#but as long as it doesn’t completely collapse their dynamic I don’t mind

[on-leatheredwings]

Co-Conspirator

Yandere! Bruce Wayne x Yandere! (Fem!) Reader 

> romantic > summary: Ever since you asked him to help with your… reconnaissance, he’s been nothing but a great help. And judgment-free. Batman is as paranoid and insane as you are, and that is why he is quite possibly your best friend. > word count: 1285  > [ a/n: just something short, something cute, something for the Girls. i think mutually yandere relationships are a fun dynamic not very explored!!! Still, its pretty mild yandereism here. Trying to warm up to writing bitches who are Actual Freaks . uhhh lmk what you think. hope i communicated the reader's backstory well. the fact she's only a little crazy is amazing, all things considered. i'd love to make a whole fic of this but alas, i am Not Very Good At Plot]

You are dating Bruce Wayne. You bite your lip at the thought, hoping it disguises your shit-eating grin. You have been told you look like a total cheeseball when you daydream. 

It’s a month-long relationship that’s still currently under the radar because you don’t have the luxury of a dual superhero-civilian persona. First, getting trapped in a pocket dimension for 10 years because something-something-Speedforce; next, being booted back into your home dimension and falling out the sky; then, wreaking havoc in Gotham City with your new, uncontrollable powers unmasked and in clear view of Gotham City choppers and news cameras… These things secretive identities do not make. No matter.

Hence why you tend to stay holed up in the Justice League’s Watchtower or your apartment, and rarely go out otherwise. But a month ago, you were bored. Neurotic. You decided to help your good buddy Batman. Fly to Gotham with your power and surprise him on patrol. And, well, you ended up saving Bruce Wayne (and hundreds of other socialites) after a three ton bowling ball careened into a gala at Wayne Tower, courtesy of the Riddler. Your telekinesis kept the whole building from collapsing. You guess that must’ve really turned Bruce Wayne on, because he was shortly afterwards chatting you up and won your phone number. 

On your first date with Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor, you blurt out, flustering, that you don’t want to overshadow his charity and all the good work he’s doing. Bruce Wayne dating anyone makes headlines – let alone a superhero. Yes, yes. You simply didn’t want to cramp Bruce Wayne’s philanthropic style. It wasn’t that you were utterly unprepared to have that level of media scrutiny on you and were insecure about dating a man completely out of your league. 

Bruce thanked you for your concern and then kissed you deeply, expertly, for your trouble.

You replay that night’s events in your head, and– goddamnit– cheeseball. You clear your throat and clear your mind.

“I think I’ll want a copy of his birth certificate from Gotham General.”

You glance at Batman, who is seated beside you, and see the corner of his lips quirk. 

“Because you’re going to pull up his birth chart.” Batman knows astrology is an enduring interest of yours. You pout, pulling up Gotham General’s files and sifting through the database. 

“... Maybe.” 

You pause from your search on one of the Justice League’s supercomputers, sneaking a sheepish glance at your co-conspirator. Ever since you asked him to help with your… reconnaissance, he’s been nothing but a great help. And judgment-free. Batman is as paranoid and insane as you are, and that is why he is quite possibly your best friend. 

You flush. “You know– I– Thanks, Bats. Really. I’m glad you aren’t acting all weird about this.”

Batman doesn’t say anything, but you know that he’s giving you his full attention. 

“Like, I’m not a freak or anything. I just have to make sure I know what I’m getting into.” You puff your cheeks. “Know he’s… you know. Good.” 

What a lie. You’re just scared and don’t want to get caught with your pants down. Despite being an actual living, breathing, metahuman and superhero… Bruce is the one with the power in this relationship. He’s… everything. Encapsulating. Towering. Anyone would want him. You think of the lingering looks very, very beautiful women give him. Everyone does want him. 

You feel a pang of violent loathing and nausea that is tided over when Batman speaks.

“... I know plenty about Bruce Wayne. He’s… good.”

Your brows rise. You’ve only known the man for a few months but even you know that’s a glowing compliment coming from Batman. His highest praise on most people is usually neutral at best. “Hmm… okay.” You turn back to your work, laughing. “Well. I also just think he’s kind of interesting to learn about. What other celebrity has this much lore? The prodigal son… Prince of Gotham… Collector of orphans… Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor...” 

You worry your lip, gnashing your teeth. Bachelor. That’s what everyone thinks he is, right? You blink and curiously turn to Batman, whose hands are flying across a keyboard, hard at work. You hope you’re not bothering him. W-well, he’d say if I were, right? you think.

“Is it weird if I put cameras in Wayne Manor?”

Batman stills and your throat dries. Damn.

“... Um… Too weird…?” 

After a tentative silence, Batman responds.

“... No. You’re just covering your bases.”

Your cheeks fill with color as being vindicated – a view you don’t know makes his heart race marginally quicker.

“Yeah!” You cough, composing yourself. “I mean, yeah. You can learn a lot about someone from what they get up to when they think they’re alone.” You can also make sure they’re not bringing anyone home, but you keep that part to yourself.

“I could plant them, if you need. I have plenty made for this kind of surveillance.” 

You’re smiling widely, wheeling your chair over to Batman’s side before you know it. 

“... God. Batman, you magnificent mind, you. This is why we’re buddies.” You lean over and poke his chest cheekily, right on the bat emblem. 

Bruce has to restrain himself from catching your hand on its retreat. Your poke burns a hole in his chest for minutes afterward, and he welcomes every second of it. He turns back to his computer screen, vainly attempting to not think about how much he wants to kiss you right now.

Perhaps Bruce should’ve simply asked you out as Batman. You spend much more time when he’s under the cowl than not. But frankly, you would’ve been too distracted during missions. Hell, he would’ve been too distracted. He already thinks of you all the time. 

Your investigation into Bruce Wayne has tripped several of his alarms, even before you told him of it. Anyone making inquiries with this level of depth draws his attention. Nothing you’re looking is anything he’s averse to you knowing, so he’s allowed you to investigate him freely and without redirection. But of course, you don’t know that. The effort you’re making is… cute. The fact you don’t know that Batman is Bruce is cute. You think you have the upper hand. And that’s… cute.

Bruce doesn’t think too deeply about your stalking, even though he probably should. It’s probably evidence of an unstable individual. He’s sure ten years alone with no stimuli in a pocket dimension does things to a person. But who was he to judge? He’s violated the privacy and boundaries of everyone who affects his life in any important way. Nor does he claim to be a shining example of ideal mental health. 

And at the end of the day, this situation is all under his control.

There is a small part of him that feels guilty for keeping his identity under wraps, but there’s a bigger part that’s amused. You don’t know that he’s had your birth certificate since the day after you met. You don’t know that there’s about twenty cameras working 24/7 in and out of your apartment. Or that he’s your new landlord. These are things he’ll tease you about once he confesses that he’s Batman. You’ve made him someone who likes to tease. 

Still, Bruce remains hesitant about telling you. How would you react? Would you feel betrayed? Hurt? Dread floods his bloodstream, an effect only the most depraved individuals in his rogues gallery tend to have on him. 

Would you leave him? Hate him?

His eyes skirt towards where you sit. You worry your lip, eyes glued to a plan of Wayne Manor, no doubt debating where you want him to place the cameras he’s offered. Tension leaves his shoulders, almost imperceptible. 

Luckily, the chances of that seem slim.

[shouldyouwakethewriteblr]

I really hope y’all don’t mind something that’s a little bit divergent from the norm, but I had pieces of this flashback scene come to me in a dream and when I got up, the scene went so naturally onto the page and I really love the foreshadowing and dialog here, plus the POV of a lesser-seen character. 

Here is a scene of a pregnant Flossie Howley, taking a bit of agency in a very important decision. This really helped develop her and her dynamic with her husband and was an enjoyable snippet to bash out in like a day. I don’t normally share little pieces like this, but I was really proud of it and wanted to share. 

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Characters: Flossie Howley, Simeon Howley

Words: 1′768 (Single scene) 

Setting: The Howley farm, Platton, roughly 1871. 

Content Warning: Description of pregnancy and stillbirth. (Hidden beneath the readmore)  

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A log collapsed to crumbling embers, sparking the entire firebox a lively orange that drew her eye up for just a moment before it returned to the calm, evening flicker and she to her needlework.

Flossie folded a tiny nightgown of white cotton over on her lap and fed her needle through the fabric, continuing a delicate feather-stitch along the cuff in a silky white thread. At her feet, a hefty old sewing box sat with a nearly completed full layette folded on top, each piece as lovingly assembled and embroidered as the last.

She heard her husband fumbling around in the kitchen, thinking himself quiet as the grave in there as he stomped about, still in his boots, long before he popped into the adjacent room with her, placing a cup and saucer of steaming, muddy-black tea on the side table by her, leaning around to kiss the side of her face and rub her upper arms with freezing-cold hands.

"Sorry, darlin'," he said. "The animals went down fine, but the damned dog wouldn't come down out the field for nothing. Had to chase it down myself."

"Hm. Stove's off?" she asked without looking up.

"Stove's off," he confirmed, going to his chair and sinking down with a wearied groan, as if breathing the long day out of his overworked bones. She smiled a little. He was still pleasant to look at with the day's grime on him, fair-eyed and caramel-haired, with the darling little cleft in his chin she used to giggle to her friends about when they were girls together.

He caught her peeking and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile back. He leaned in over the arm of the chair, peering at her work.

"Nearly done, I'd say, hm?"

"Mm. Nearly."

"I still say we have plenty baby's things already."

"He will have his own things." The needle punctured the cotton with a hard pop. "I know, I know. You've said it and I've heard it." Simeon sunk back into his chair, wiggling as if he could burrow himself even deeper into it.

She paused to take a sip from her tea, about strong enough to stain leather, just as she liked it, clearing her throat as she picked the needle up again.

"I've named him," she plainly told him.

"Pardon?"

"The baby; I've named him. And I won't hear nothing about it. You've named every one this far– this might be my only chance to name one."

"Very well; what is it?"

"You can know when he's born. It's been in my mind since I was a girl."

Simeon gave an amused chuckle. "Alright, well what– uh, what sort of name is it?"

She stopped her hand to look up at the fire and think a moment before the answer came to her.

"A strong one," she said. "Thriving."

"All good things." Simeon seemed to accede entirely, though he still had questions. "Does it feel strong? In your belly?"

She frowned down at her belly, her red chintz wrapper tied just above the healthy, round swell.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "It– doesn't feel like much of anything, one way or another."

Unfortunately true, with the way she'd treated her pregnant belly the past few months. It reminded her of years before, when she'd not lived on the farm for long, before the Fossers.

They were hungry, hungrier than she'd ever been before or since. They couldn't afford to properly feed the chickens; they'd already culled all the ones they could spare-- and once or twice an egg would be laid with half a shell, so thin that even if she tried her best to lift one with slow, gentle hands, it'd burst at her lightest touch, spilling over her fingers, and the hens would cackle and crow with excitement. Simeon told her it was normal; just an unfortunate result of a poor diet, but it wasn't any less frustrating at a time when each egg was precious.

She pulled her wrapper more snugly around her middle. She'd reached this size only twice before. One baby she'd lost around this many months along and, as always, she had the midwife show her the poor little thing. The younger ones were barely anything, lumps of flesh wrapped in cloth. This was different. This was almost a baby, almost, yet not quite. Its body far too small, its skin shiny and translucent, its face barely a face at all.

That's what would be living inside her now. Tiny, pink and infirm. It felt that if she touched this one too much through her skin, if she loved with too many hands, his shell might break apart, then his body beneath, leaving her holding nothing but pieces.

So, she let him be. Occasionally she'd feel him move and kick, reaching out to her, reminding her that he was still there, but she would seldom answer him. Simply let herself feel the relief it gave, and move on.

"And if it's a girl?"

Simeon's query brought her back into the room. She offered him a quick glance, then shook her head.

"It's a boy, they've all been boys."

"I'm just saying."

"When's the last time your family had anything but boys?"

Simeon paused. "O-four. My great aunt Hitty, but she had half a beard, herself, so..."

"Exactly. It's a boy." She allowed a hint of a chuckle as she bit off and fastened her thread, running her thumb over the detailing before starting on the opposite cuff. So tiny, hard to imagine a little wrist in there, though she'd seen it done once before. She rolled the two sides of the cotton together between her fingers, sampling the softness, then pierced it through.

In her peripheral, she could see Simeon watch her for a while, then give up, looking back to the fire with his hands tucked up behind his head. She let him rest long enough to complete the first inch or so of her cuff, then laid her final decision upon him.

"You'll be near," she told him. "When he's born."

"Pardon?"

"You won't go out for a drink, or a ride," she elaborated. "You can be down here, in the parlor, or out in the field, I don't care a fig. I'll have you near."

Simeon chuckled. It seemed to entertain him. "You've made your mind up about many a thing, haven't you, m'girl? Supposing the Fossers have me out of town? If the little man decides to be early?"

"Then you'd best come running back like hell's fire's at your heels." She lowered her work to her lap so she could look right at her husband. "You have to be here for him, Simeon. You have to be near so the devil himself sees you and says 'I can't never touch this child; I can't touch him because his daddy is Simeon Howley and he's much too tough to try.'"

Simeon laughed until he met her eye and saw the look inside it. Then, he settled himself, but kept a sweetness to his expression.

"If it brings you peace," he told her. "Here I'll be, Miss."

She smiled, and reached out her hand to him. Taking the gesture, he rose from his seat and went to her, kneeling down by the arm of her chair.

"You hear that?" he spoke down to her belly. "You see this?"

He raised his bent arm, flexing until the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over the muscle, completing the show with an exaggerated arch of his brow.

"I got you, little man."

Flossie threw her head back and laughed out happy and loud, and when she came back down she gave Simeon a playful ruffling of the dust-coated hair atop his head. Settling in close, he reached in and rubbed a hand lovingly over her belly, and she pulled open her wrapper from the chemise underneath, so he'd have an easier time of it.

Simeon's hands were different, heavy and dirt-stained as they were. It didn't bother her if he touched. His hands were safer, they could protect the little one in his shell far better than she ever could.

"That your head or your arse, then, son?" Simeon puzzled aloud as he felt, making her laugh again so her tummy shook against his palm. He grinned like a child, absently running his hand back and forth over the summit.

"Well," he went on. "--I can't wait to know your name, pal. But listen, you go easy on your mother, hm? Come right on out when you're ready and when you're standing on your own, I'll take you fishing, and riding. I'll teach you to shoot."

"Simeon... Psh."

"--and I'll put you on my shoulders on the hill, so you can see the whole town, like my Pa used to do with me. It's a pretty little place, you'll like it."

Flossie smiled sadly, rubbing her thumb under his chin, then holding it in her hand. How terribly she wanted to make all the things he spoke of happen for him. She almost did, a few times before. And she knew, in the bones of her, that this was probably her last chance. This man loved her; she trusted that wouldn't change, but could a tiny piece of him, however miniscule, not resent her if she failed one last time? If this was all they'd ever be?

They stayed this way a while, Flossie setting her needlework aside so they could enjoy each-other's closeness next to the fire. Then, always tired far before she ever was, Simeon rose back to his feet, kissed her and asked her to come soon to bed, then wished her goodnight and disappeared to the other room and up the old, creaking stairs.

Instead, Flossie sat alone until the fire burned itself out to embers which barely cast their glow past the fender, leaving her in near darkness, save for the moonlight through the far shutters.

And there, all alone, she sat up straight and, like her former self, reaching so carefully beneath the bellies of the hens, she placed a hand upon her stomach, almost too light to feel the touch herself.

"Do you see how much we're counting on you?" she whispered, her fingers gently pressing the firm flesh beneath linen. "You'll be strong, won't you?"

She drew in a nervous breath that fit snug in her chest, allowing herself to lay her palm flat, feel the change in depth, the obvious life that lay there, changing the very shape of her.

"Won't you, William?"

[tonaken]

Wait thirst like I had a wet dream of all of my favorite anime men having their way with me and waking up so disappointed 😩…why can’t I be dicked down by Gojo, Ran, Mitsuya, Uzui, and Toji all at once😩😩😩

Sheeeeeesh Minaaa that’s a train right thereeee 😩😩

Warnings → well clearly sex w/ multiple people (six in total, how do you even call this 🤨), implied unprotected sex, implied consent, implied voyeurism, dom/sub dynamics, instances of rough sex, facefucking, dacryphilia (crying kink), oral sex (fem and male receiving), masturbation (male), groping, nipple play, very slight possessiveness, sadistic undertones with Ran (nothing major knowing the type of man he is)

W/c → 650 words

Toji probably prefers it from the back; he can truly wreck you like that, putting all his strength into driving his hips against you. His eyes are constantly trained on the deep arch of your back. Your chest has completely collapsed on the bed, giving him complete agency on your body. He's a lil mean with it too, maybe landing a few smacks on your ass if that’s what you want. He honestly just wants to bust a nut and go. He has the chance to do it with a pretty girl like you, so why not? It’s a shame he can’t have you all to himself, but your pussy’s definitely better than his fist.

Gojo is bratty and mean. He does it to rile you up, to get you mad and then give you the best dick to shut you up. He loves the tears that collect in your eyes; whether they are due to pleasure or his condescending tone, he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t care. Thinking about it, he wouldn’t mind seeing your watery eyes look up at him while he fucks your face. You’d look so pleading and aroused, drooling all over yourself without a care in the world. Yeah, that would hit the spot. All in all, he relishes in the control you give him, it’s a nice reminder that he is indeed the strongest.

Uzui is a whole menace but in a good way. I imagine him to be a self centered bastard (affectionate) so whatever you do your eyes have to be on him. Toji is railing you from the back and Gojo is stuffing your face? You better look at him. He wants to see you fall apart, just to ruin you all over again when his turn comes around. But for the time being he’ll stay there, hand slowly rubbing his aching cock and eyes taking in how good your sweaty body looks. I can also see him as being very loud when he cums, painting your chest in white. The thick liquid looks good on you, all shiny against your skin. It’s definitely flashy, just like he likes it.

Now, for the tokyorev boys, I don’t write for them (yet), but…

Mitsuya is the sweetest. He just guides you through the whole thing, holding your hair if it gets in the way and cooing praises in your ear. His smooth voice really contrasts with the forceful thrusts that shake your body, and he is right there, holding your hand, and caressing your face. He lovingly licks your pussy lips, never breaking eye contact, and circles your clit so slowly you start whining, eager for more. Truth is, as sweet as Takashi is, he’s also a bit of a teaser. He wants, craves to make you long for him even more, and he would be lying if he said that a part of him wouldn’t like you to beg for what you desire. But that’s all for another time, when he can ravish you on his own.

Ran is an undeclared sadist. He’ll lurk in the shadows, so to speak, admiring how you manage the multiple men feasting on you, still fully dressed to feel somewhat superior to you. But the bulge he sports in his slacks makes all his composure thoroughly useless. He waits to have you, wanting to be your last man for the night, but he soon gets impatient. His hands are anywhere they can find space, grabbing, rubbing, squeezing. The more aroused he gets, the more aggressive he becomes, now pinching your nipples and playing with your tongue, your spit getting on his expensive watch. I feel like he could fuck you in a full suit as well, just undoing the zipper and going to poundtown, his silk tie just dangling in your face.

Feel free to send any thirst my way!

If anon please include your age

Please read the rules before requesting

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[softykooky]

the habits of a broken heart.

☾ genre : soulmates au, unrequited love, art student!JK, english student!Y/N, angst, fluff, subtle enemies to lovers

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

☾ summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak. 

alternatively,

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

☾ word count: 26.3k (my biggest one yet!)

☾ author’s note: this took forever oh my gosh! i really hope you like it! it’s my first time writing such a big single piece, and trying a different style. thank you so much for your support, always! please let me know what you think ♡

The first time he had his heart broken, Jeon Jungkook had been 13 years old. He was fresh out of middle school and so ready to face his freshman year with an impressionable mind and plenty of voice cracks to earn him months worth of teasing. You see, at the age of 13, Jungkook wasn’t something to swoon over. He had yet to grow into his ears and Dr. Park assured him that his braces would be off as soon as she could get them. He was a little lanky and a bit too reticent to be considered social. So when a girl in his grade comes up to him, nervous and stuttering, and asks him to go to the heavily romanticized homecoming dance, Jungkook has already come to the conclusion that she might be his soulmate, even if he was far too young to get his mark yet. 

Her name was Mina, and Jungkook is confronted with this memory every time he visits home and his mother makes the family flip through the photo albums dating back to his high school years. He grimaces every time he sees the picture of them together. Him in a pink button-up to match her offensively ugly ruffled taffeta dress. 

Mina broke up with him three months after that picture was taken, through one of her friends no less and in front of his entire gym class. Jungkook couldn’t remember how long he cried for while he felt the pain from his first heartbreak would never go away, regardless of how much time passes. He held onto his mother and sobbed out the agony and humiliation of Mina not wanting to be his girlfriend anymore, and how he had lost his soulmate before he even knew it was her. His mother assured him that without the mark, there was no way to be sure and that there was hope. But back then, all Jungkook could think of was ways to avoid Mina the next day, especially when they sat next to each other in 3rd period biology.  

At 13 years old, Jungkook thought he would never find love again. 

He is 18 when he stands alongside his parents in a pale examination room and awaits his destiny. He’s leaving for college the next day, yet the only thing that’s making him nervous is the mark that will inevitably appear on his wrist in the next few minutes. The same one he would find on his soulmate’s, and Jungkook wonders if there is the possibility of scaring everyone away when the first thing he’ll ask on a date is: can I please see your wrist? 

To say the least, Jungkook is petrified. Because that mark on his wrist is going to serve as a constant reminder of his missing piece, and Jungkook knows he’ll always feel lacking until he finds them. It’s a crescent moon. Small and black and nestled comfortably on his skin. He knows many times the marks don’t have any correlation with the couples, but Jungkook wonders if you are an astrologist. Or an astronaut. Or just had a weird affinity for the moon. He smiles when they congratulate him and can’t stop himself from thinking that he might be in love with you already. Wherever you are. When he leaves for university, he feels less lonely when there is a crescent moon to accompany him. 

Contrary to the beliefs of his 13-year old self, Jungkook does fall in love again. Hard. This time, it was a girl with brown hair and big eyes and a smile so pretty he could see it from across a crowded room. She was a grade below him; a frazzled college freshman with no clue to where her lecture hall was, and he: a sophomore who had a compulsion of changing his major every other month. When he met her, it had been chemical engineering and three weeks before that was film composition. Her name was Yoojung, 18 years old while he was 19.

 Her soulmate mark is a single star, and even though he knows she is not his soulmate, he can’t help but to think how perfectly their marks complement each other. How they would make a perfect night sky. 

They had met at a frat party, no less, and the combination of cheap booze and bad hiphop music had made her look so incredibly gorgeous under the dim lighting. They had their first kiss in a random person’s living room, highly intoxicated and much too irresponsible and Jungkook had barely even remembered it in the morning until she showed up at his doorstep and invited herself in. Yet it wasn’t too long before he made a perfect space for Yoojung in his life.

 Each day after his physics lecture, he’d go to her dorm and they’d chat over breakfast until she had economics at 10 o’ clock. After she was done, he’d insist that they go get a greasy hamburger at the joint his friends took him to when they got high and, she’d end up dragging them both to the health food restaurant that prided themselves on only using organic. Leave it to Jungkook to find himself a vegan girlfriend. 

Sometimes though, when he looks at Yoojung, his mind drifts to his actual soulmate and a little flower named guilt blooms in his chest. But he is so young and his other half could be anywhere in the world, so Jungkook thinks there is no harm in allowing himself to indulge in a little affection. These days, it wasn’t completely abnormal for soulmates to part ways, and when Yoojung is in his arms, Jungkook likes to think that his soulmate would understand. They would want him to be happy. In the middle of synchronizing their busy student schedules and sneaking in quick kisses through cramming for finals, he had found it unnervingly easy to fall in love with her. 

Deeply and blindly in love. 

Yoojung brought him home to her family on fall breaks and the occasional winter vacation and Jungkook had melded perfectly into their dynamic. The son I never had, her father would tell him over the dinner table while her mother constantly made sure his plate was piled high. Her little sister was visibly in love with him, and would ask Yoojung where he was every time she came home from university, yet avoiding him at all costs when he was there. 

Jungkook’s own family, however, was a different story. To put it delicately, they had liked it more when he came home by himself and left her at school. It had put a strain on their relationship sure, but at the end of the day, Jungkook loved her. A simple love. 

Every day he remembers that their marks do not match. But if this is love and he feels like he is on cloud 9 with every moment they are together, Jungkook begins to doubt if the universe’s will is truly divine and successful. Maybe Yoojung was his soulmate and it did not matter what was on their wrists. 

He loved her intensely, and she did him. She was the first thing on his mind when he woke up and manifested in his dreams when he slept at night. To Jungkook, Yoojung could do no wrong. Like some sort of divine being or angel that the heavens sent just for him, and he found himself thinking maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life beside her. 

But he would come to learn that the higher the climb...the harder the fall. 

Jungkook and Yoojung were together for the better part of 4 years before she cheated on him with a guy that she’d supposedly met a couple weeks ago. When Jungkook screams at her asking why she had been disloyal, Yoojung shows him her wrist. Her single inked star. 

“I found my soulmate, Jungkook. And I love you so much, you know I do. I didn’t know how to tell you so I…”

The rest of her words fade into white noise and all Jungkook can do is look at her and commit every detail to memory as he feels her fade farther away. Her teary and remorseful brown eyes. Her plush lips. The fan of her eyelashes and the mole on the side of her temple. He’ll never get to see her like this again. 

“I was ready to be with you, soulmate or not. I know it’s not fair but I wanted the same from you”, he whispers, falling down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. 

“Soulmates be damned, the universe was wrong. I was so hideously in love with you. How could you not at least tell me when you met him?” Jungkook feels his heart collapsing in on itself with every word of resignation. Of burgeoning acceptance. Yoojung can only mirror his desolate expression and stares down at the star on her skin.

 Jungkook wishes it were a moon. 

“Just go, Yoojung.” 

It would have hurt less if it was only a one night stand with a stranger she did not know the name of. He was in love and spineless enough to move past a one night stand. However, Yoojung had found her soulmate and fallen in love with him. Jungkook had merely acted as a placeholder for the real deal to come along and sweep her off her feet. 

This time he doesn’t cry. Just stares out the window of his living room and wonders what it would be like to disappear altogether. When the door is slammed shut, and he is left to nurse his aching soul, Jungkook apologizes in advance to the person that shares the same mark on their wrist as him. He no longer believes that soulmates exist. 

When Jungkook looks back at his 13 year old self with the innocent construct of what heartbreak feels like, he wants to laugh and maybe slap that stupid boy upside the head. Yoojung had destroyed him. Destroyed the innocent and starry-eyed person that he’s tried so hard to preserve. Destroyed his vulnerability and bright outlook on life and in their place, cultivated walls of rock and steel meant to keep everyone out and him safely tucked inside. In her wake, Yoojung left behind a shell of a man who pushed his emotions so deep he became numb and forgot what it was like to feel. 

So Jungkook does what he always does to push away the hurt. He changes his major; to art history this time. He stacks up bracelets on his wrist to forget the mark of a moon. He scrapes up his rainy day money and treats himself to the most expensive pair of Saint Laurent boots he’s ever worn. He tests the limits of the human liver, and takes advantage of the biceps and jawline he’s acquired since high school to establish a reputation. 

To his friends, Jungkook remained raucous and always down to order infinite rounds of shots until he couldn’t see straight. To those that looked even closer, Jungkook was so completely shattered he didn’t even feel it anymore. 

The second time he had his heart broken, Jungkook was 23. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen again. 

◐

“For the last time, Jimin, I’m not going to give you a blowjob so you can pay for my student loans.”

You don’t know how many times you’ve had this conversation with your roommate. Most of the time, it was convenient to have a roommate whose parents were loaded and sent him monthly installments that looked more like small loans than allowances. You knew he just wanted to help. Heck, he probably would be willing to pay them off for you without the promiscuous favor, but you had made it clear to Jimin that you wouldn’t be riding off of his charity. 

“Ugh, Y/N you’re really no fun”, he sighs, falling backwards onto your twin-sized bed and feigning devastation. You reward his melodrama with a giggle, ruffling your hands through his fried hair. Jimin had a knack for changing his hair color as quickly as his mood. 

You look at the bill that’s staring back at you from your computer screen, and it feels like it’s just reached out and punched you in the face. “Hey do you think it’s a common mistake for bank tellers to add a few too many zeroes?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m rationalizing as a self-defense mechanism.” Sometimes it was annoying that your roommate had a degree in psychology. Then again, Jimin was making more money than you and your degree in English. 

You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling in attempts to quell your tears of frustration. And also because it is a plea to whoever is up there controlling your destiny: please I’m begging you. Melt my debt away. 

You and Jimin sit in comfortable silence and he plays with the hem of your worn comforter while you scroll through the emails you have been ignoring in your inbox. You want to smash your head in at all the deadlines. Times like these, there is one thing that brings you comfort and always has since you turned 18. 

The quaint little crescent moon that sits right atop your radius. 

You had a habit of pressing your thumb against it and feeling your pulse against the mark, stupidly wondering if your soulmate’s heartbeat has synched up with your own. If he was out there somewhere, touching his mark and wondering the same about you. He was taking his sweet time, that’s for sure. Jimin sees your nervous tic and sighs again.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic it makes me want to barf, Y/N.” You scowl at his words and chuck a pillow at his unsuspecting face. 

“I don’t understand you, Jimin. Your soulmate is out there and you’re not the slightest bit curious? You don’t want to do anything extra to find them?” Jimin looks at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s exactly it, though. I know they’re my soulmate and I’ll find them when the time is right. So why worry about it? It’s better not to force anything.” His statement is followed up with a grin and his fingers reach out to pinch your cheeks. This was the dynamic of your friendship. He is easy-going and flows like a careless river. You’ve read one too many books to not vie and daydream for the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate. 

Your mom always said that you’ll know just from a look. It’s like getting hit over the head with a ray of sun, she said. Like suddenly their eyes are the only eyes you ever want to look into again. Since then, you’ve dreamt for the day you find someone with that same moon on their wrist. For now though, you had more immediate concerns more along the lines of crippling debt. 

“What do I do, Jimin? Should I be a stripper?” He laughs and the thought makes you groan. You couldn’t even walk in heels, much less try to dance or look like you didn’t have two left feet. Stripper life just wasn’t for you. 

“Hm...I could call in a few favors for you at the office. Get you an internship or secretary position.” 

“Maybe. Too much nepotism. Your father owns the office you work at”, you remind him, and his eyebrows crease further in thought. God, maybe you do have to be a stripper.

“Wait!” Jimin yelps so suddenly you almost fling the computer off your lap. 

“I think I know someone. He’s been looking for a model for his art portfolio or something, and he said he’s willing to pay.” Jimin reaches for his phone and his thumbs type up a storm while you watch from the sideline. 

“I think he mentioned it’s about a month-long project. You’d just have to be on call whenever a stroke of genius arrives.” 

“That sounds great! I’m an amazing model!” you crow, to which Jimin giggles again.

“The several candids I have in my camera roll tell a different story, Y/N.” Naturally, he receives another pillow to the face. But you follow up with a cheery kiss to his cheek as you rejoice in the new opportunity for cash flow by a celebratory dance, which looks more like a wiggle when you remain seated on your bed. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, you chirped, “I owe you one.”

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

 When you look towards him, his eyebrows are raised inquisitively and there’s a devilish smirk on his lips.

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day. 

◓

Jungkook’s favorite type of arguments to get into is whether Neo-classicism or post-impressionism had the most impact on European art and architecture. Call him a snob, but he loves to prattle on about Degas and Caillebotte until his opponent tires or concedes out of pure exhaustion. Jungkook regards it as a battle strategy: bore your enemy so that they stop fighting. 

He’s in the middle of a heated debate with his classmate from graduate school when he receives a phone call from Park Jimin. Now, Jungkook has no idea how or when Jimin became an installment in his life, or how he’s roped his way into his inner circle. He just remembers waking up one day with a killer hangover and finding that there was a pink-haired stranger lying on his floor. When he tried to shoo him out, the stranger shoved a wad of money in his shirt pocket, muttering “just five more minutes”, and Jungkook was in no position to deny easy cash. Jungkook now considers Jimin one of his close friends. 

“What’s up, Jiminie?” He laughs into the microphone. 

“I told you not to call me that, you brat. I’m older than you.” 

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

“I-okay fine you got me there.” He hears Jimin wheeze over the line as he tries to rein himself in to say what he needs to say. 

“In all seriousness, though. I have a proposition for you.” Jimin lilts in a mischievous tone, which makes Jungkook nervous enough to get up from the café table he had been sitting at with his friend and careen to a quieter corner. 

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you know how you were telling me about your portfolio for the gallery. The one you have to submit by the end of the season? How you needed a model on call 24/7 in case inspiration struck?” 

Jungkook wants him to spit it out because he has been searching high mountains and low valleys for someone that would be willing to be his muse for a month or two. Constantly at his beck and call so he can finish this damn portfolio and get his name out there in the art world. Maybe start debating post-impressionism with the cream of the crop. 

“I think I’ve found someone to do that for you.” Jungkook exhales in relief at his words.

“She’s my roommate and she’s super low on cash and unemployed with a bachelor’s in English literature, so she’s got time to spare.” Perfect. That way, Jungkook can call her whenever he needs to.

“That’s amazing, Jiminie. Can she meet me at the art building tomorrow at noon? We can start right away.” Jungkook breathes through the phone, a small weight coming off his shoulders now that another thing had been accomplished. One less thing he had to worry about on the journey to his goal. Jimin confirms the plans and they exchange pleasantries before Jungkook hangs up as the man on the other line starts screaming about his burning lunch on the stove. 

Jungkook catches sight of the mark on his wrist when he looks down, and quickly rearranges his bracelets so that it is once again covered to his eyes. Out of sight and out of mind. 

The gallery portfolio had been a thorn in his side. It had been months in the making and if he allows himself to reminisce, Jungkook remembers the nights he and Yoojung stayed up until dawn and talked about his blossoming interest in art. How he wanted a space of his own to display his works. Back then, she listened to him with stars in her eyes and basked in the afterglow of post-coital cuddling, promising that she would help him achieve it. 

His heart sinks at the memory of the imprint of her tresses of hair spilling on his bedspread. He burned those sheets the second she left. 

Jungkook represses his intrusive thoughts about Yoojung and wills her to get out of his head. He forces it down until it feels like he’s just dumped ice water over his heart and vomited out any semblance of emotion. He makes his way back to the cafe table with a sly smile that hides the internal ache he’s promised himself to never let anyone suspect of. 

“So what were you saying about Renoir’s Moulin de la Galette?”

◑

The art building is situated besides a library, with a bakery flanking its left. Two years spent at the university, and you’ve never once stepped foot there. Maybe it was the daunting abstract sculpture on the front lawn or the prejudices you held against annoying art snobs on their high horses, but you often found yourself subconsciously avoiding the space in intimidation. 

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to do this so you can pay off your loans”, you whisper under your breath, words meant for your ears and no one else’s. “And if he asks you to pose nude, you run the opposite direction.” 

It was easy to get lost in the building. For art students that know how to draw, they really took advantage of abstractionism to make the most confusing map you had ever seen in your life. Luckily, with some direction from the vapid front desk secretary and some intuition, you were able to to find room 62B. You don’t think you’ll be able to forget the number 62B if you tried, Jimin had screamed it to you so many times as you left the apartment. 

The door soundlessly opens with a nudge of your hand and you stick your head inside.

“You know when Jimin told me he found me a model, he didn’t mention her lack of punctuality.” His voice is calm and subdued with no lingering annoyance, even if his words are uncourteous. You whip around to him and the first sight you see of Jeon Jungkook is merely a tuft of brown hair behind a vast canvas. And some expensive looking leather boots that anchor his feet to the ground. 

You clear your throat and approach with an outstretched hand and the shiniest smile you can muster. 

“I’m Y/N. Jimin’s roommate. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Jungkook.”

It is when he steps out from behind the canvas that you finally understand what your mother meant when she said meeting your soulmate feels like getting hit over the head with a ray of sunshine. You can’t describe it any other way, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Like the air becomes so sweet in your lungs it turns to viscous honey. Like suddenly the person standing in front of you is Valentine, encapsulated. 

You know he feels it too, yet you don’t know why he forces himself to remain blasé, and if you hadn’t seen his widened eyes and heard the gasp from his lips you would have never suspected anything at all. Stranger courtesy is abandoned and you forcefully grab his wrist, turning it over to find his mark while pulling up your sleeve to reveal your own. 

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s. 

When you finally muster up the nerve to look into his eyes again, you wonder if it is healthy for the human heart to beat so fast and so thunderously it feels ready to jump out of your chest. Jungkook, however, still wears that same expression on his face. Flat and cold, not even a glimmer in his eyes. He stares at you disinterested and wrenches his wrist from your grasp. 

“Wait, Jungkook...aren’t you….”, you sputter through a desperate smile, “aren’t you happy?” He stays silent and trains his attention on the canvas in front of him, but you can see the conflict that swirls in his iris. 

“I’ve been looking for you for so long! And I’ve finally found you. In the art building no less, just my luck that-”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you expect from me but I’m not looking for anything right now.” 

There were no objectively ugly words. But you think the ones that have just spewed from Jungkook’s lips come pretty close. They stoke a fire in your chest.

“What do you mean? We’re soulmates”, you faltered, sinking deeper into confusion as you stare at the unaffected man in front of you, whose only concern is the conglomerate of paint on his palette. 

Jungkook sighs monotonously. Almost as if he had better things to do than be here.

“It’s only a mark on your wrist. And we just happen to have the same one. Amazing that you still think somehow one single person was made entirely just for you.” His words are bored and he doesn’t even have the decency to look you in the eye when he speaks. You think you might want to punch him if you weren’t so speechless.

“Look”, he sighs as if you were inconveniencing him, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell you that I’m the one you’ve been looking for this whole time. We have the same mark, but...I’m not the guy you want.”

“B-But...I’m your soulmate. We-we’re made for each other.”

Jungkook scoffs harshly, and you want to sink into the ground. “That’s just a silly myth.” 

“So you don’t...believe in soulmates?” The words felt wrong to say when all your life, finding your soulmate felt like the ribbon at the end of the finish line. But here he was now, and you felt so small under his gaze. Like you weren’t meant to be there and standing in the same room with him was a concoction for heartbreak.

“No.”

Jungkook’s syllable pangs in your ear, and you think it might be your least favorite sound. Then you leave. And if it was hard for you to meet your soulmate - the person who you’re destined to be with - who doesn’t believe in you, then walking away from him was a different cross to bear. 

You take the bus home and ignore the glare of strangers when you burst into tears at a red light, and cry the rest of the way back. Your mother hadn’t described this. She prosed on and on about the feeling one gets after finding a soulmate but never mentioned to you how it feels when you find out they want nothing to do with you. What do you do when you realize the person you’ve been chasing for forever has been trying to run away at the same time? 

Jimin holds you together that night on your bedroom floor, while you break apart and scratch at the moon on your wrist until your skin breaks. He listens to the words you sputter; as much as he can decipher when they are drowned out by the painful sound of your sobbing. Jungkook’s beliefs bleed into your consciousness. Perhaps he is right and perhaps there is no such thing as true soulmates, and the marks are obsolete. 

However, when you fall asleep in your friend’s arms from the physical fatigue of violent crying and the sheer mental exhaustion of meeting Jeon Jungkook, your mind comes to a more painful conclusion. 

A more truthful conclusion.

Your soulmate only needed to meet you to decide that he did not want you.

◒

Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates. He thinks they’re a stupid coy to give people false hope. An illusion to feign happiness and to take Yoojung away from someone she genuinely loved. Though in the hours of the night, when he is by himself and the bed feels too big for one body, Jungkook wonders if there is truly a reason why someone has an identical moon on their wrist. But he is still so broken and unhealed from the wounds Yoojung left behind.

 So instead of soulmates, he thinks about what she must be doing. If she’s eating well. If she’s moved in with her own soulmate and if they’re happy together. Jungkook is an involuntary masochist and he pays for it with every pillowcase that becomes stained with his tears. 

He sighs out an expletive after downing a shot of whiskey, relishing in the familiar burn as it slides down his throat. Alcohol doesn’t seem to be working efficiently, though. He’s only barely tipsy after years in college building tolerance, and he can still see your face each time he blinks. Like you are imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Jungkook wonders why Jimin had cancelled on the group tonight. 

There is a little devil called remorse and it stands atop his shoulder, unseen by everyone but him, and Jungkook decides he will get rid of it by calling another round of shots. From his seat in the dirty booth, he can see Min Yoongi and his soulmate practically dry humping on the dance floor. If anyone asks him if he ever gets jealous seeing soulmates happy and in love, he’ll laugh in their face and tell them he pities people like that. People that are so blinded by the system. But loneliness is a stern mistress and it makes him think of you. How lovely the moon looks on your wrist. How your hand felt so warm when it caressed against his skin. 

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?” 

To his right comes Kim Taehyung, designated driver extraordinaire, and he looks at Jungkook with friendly concern laced with amusement. Jungkook nods contentedly. 

“Soulmates are so bullshit, Tae”, he snickers, fingers tracing the rim of the shot glass and smirk on his face to mask the bitterness of both the alcohol and his heart. Taehyung spares a knowing glance, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder with the weight of knowledge of Jungkook’s past. 

The night is young and so is he. He drinks until he can no longer taste the liquor and forgets altogether about what had happened only a couple of hours before. Until the crescent mark on his skin just looks like a shapeless black blob, and it makes him smile. He thinks he likes it better that way. 

Taehyung drops him home and personally tucks him into bed while he is still in jeans and his shirt smells like the bar. His sleep is dreamless that night. When the morning comes and his friends tease him about how he begged Taehyung not to leave, Jungkook will laugh and blame the alcohol for his foggy memory. He won’t tell them that he does remember, and that he was only grasping at any warm body to soothe his aching loneliness.

◐

Usually when he first opens his eyes in the morning, Jungkook is thinking about the next class he has to attend and if he is late (which is usually most of the time). This morning, albeit morbidly hungover, Jungkook thinks of the apple strudels they sell at the bakery next to the art building. Mrs. Kim always gets the pastry to filling ratio just right. But when he opens the door with a jubilant smile on his face and the scent of baked goods already in his nostrils, Jungkook has a feeling apple strudels will have to wait. 

There you are. In all your messy-haired glory, huffing like a caged bull in the doorway of his apartment, fiery gaze directed completely at him and all he can think to say is:

“How do you know where I live?” Jungkook schools his face expressionless in your presence. He hopes this will discourage you, but it only makes you angrier. 

“Park Jimin”, you snarl. 

Of fucking course, it’s always Park Jimin. Jimin who drunkenly sleeps in his bedroom and now Jimin who is leaking his address to any stranger.

“Um”, Jungkook stammers and takes a step back, “what are you doing here? Didn’t I get my point through yesterday?” He can see the statement catching you off guard, and the fury in your eyes dwindles to dejection. Only for a millisecond though, before you are aiming your wrath at him once again. 

You take a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?” 

Jungkook can think of a lot of answers to that query. He opts to interpret it as a rhetorical question and keep his mouth shut. 

“You just...found your soulmate! I’m your soulmate! And you don’t even want to get to know me? At all?”, you scream exasperatedly. Jungkook catches the gaze of a middle aged lady who is not-so-discreetly staring at the two of you, and pulls you inside his apartment by your arm. If you weren’t so frustrated, you would have been flustered at the physical contact. 

“Listen. Soulmates don’t end up together all the time. I’ve told you I’m not really interested in anything right now and it’s not a priority”, he takes a breath through his passionate monologue, “and I’m sorry that that’s not something you expected, but I….don’t want a soulmate.”

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you. 

When he says them out loud to a living breathing person, Jungkook realizes how cruel it sounds. He can see it in the way your eyes have become glossy under his living room lights and the way you shrink into yourself as self-defense against his blows. He rationalizes that he’d rather tell you the truth than lie to you now, only to hurt you later. Really, he’s doing you a kindness. Right?

You turn your back to him to gather your thoughts, and wipe the tears that you refuse to let him see. The salty drops sting the raw skin of your wrist after last night, and you are brutally reminded of the current reality. His brutal honesty makes you want to abandon all hope, but you were a woman with a plan. You came here for a reason, not to just lose your temper in your soulmate’s apartment and tell him what you really thought about him.

“I have a proposition for you”, you asserted calmly, staring Jungkook in the eye as he remains unbothered. 

“Now I reckon something’s happened to you to make you lose all your faith in soulmates, so I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Your eyebrows furrow when you speak focusedly.

“We don’t have to be together. That’s your will. But…”, you hesitate, pushing past the uncertainty and fear of another rejection from Jungkook, “will you let me at least try? You don’t have to promise anything. Can we just start as friends?” 

Naturally, Jungkook wants to shoot down your offer, kick you out of his apartment, and pretend like he never met anyone by the name of Y/N. Call it divine intervention but when he looks at you, pleading for any semblance of connection, he feels a tug at his heart strings. So Jungkook makes another promise to himself. He would let you “try”, whatever that entails. But there was no virtual possibility of letting you any closer than necessary. 

You both stand in contemplative silence before he lets out a resigned sigh. “On one condition”, he responds slowly, but there is already a premature grin growing on your face and you don’t think you could stop it even if you tried.

“You still have to be my model for the art portfolio.”

You agree before he even gets to take another breath. 

“Deal.” 

When you finally make your way out of Jungkook’s apartment, parting ways with an awkward number exchange and a ‘see you later’, there is a simultaneous feeling of hope and desolation. The optimism for Jungkook combines with the insecurity that perhaps you, just as you are, is not nearly enough to make someone fall in love. Especially someone who disregards their soul connection to you. 

You walk back to your apartment with a heavy heart that warms with embers of determination. Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A Bastille fortress of self-defense mechanisms and destructive tendencies, and you know that there is unresolved pain. Call it a soulmate instinct or something, but you see it in his eyes. You see it in the way his face begs to show emotion but his mind refuses to acknowledge. 

You know Jungkook is not obligated to accept you after the dust settles, much less fall in love with you. Under the peach blossoms of the campus sidewalk, you make a promise anyway.  To yourself and to your soulmate and the silly little mark on the inside of your wrist. Even if he does not love you, you vow to help Jungkook learn to love himself.

◓

When you are harshly woken up at 5:30 in the morning, the last person you expected to be blowing up your phone was Jeon Jungkook. If it weren’t for the pure exhaustion seeping through your bones, you would have been excited about your soulmate calling you. Alas, slumber was your soulmate now. Jungkook would have to step down. 

On the other side of the paper thin wall, Jimin is frustratedly banging from his room, your ringtone reverberating throughout the entire apartment. You pick up his call without even opening your eyes.

“Hello?” 

“Y/N I need you to come to my apartment as soon as you can.” There is no sleepiness in his voice. Just clean and cold like it always is and he has hung up before you get the chance to scold him for waking you up at this unholy hour. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind but you remember he is paying you very handsomely for your efforts, and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed to call an uber. Thank god he doesn’t live too far away otherwise you’ll stick a foot through his canvas for the transportation bill. 

The front of Jungkook’s apartment door is strangely therapeutic, and you find yourself falling asleep standing up after you’ve rung the doorbell. Either time passes too slowly when you are sleep-drunk or Jungkook moves to get the door as quickly as your grandfather does. Whatever the case, you are about to pass out on his doorstep if he doesn’t come soon.

“Y/N, why are you just standing there? The door has been open.” 

“Jungkook. Why are you making me do this so early?”, you yawn, pushing inside the apartment. 

Jungkook takes in your discombobulated appearance, and almost wants to laugh. You were still in your pajamas, and the bun on your head now looked more like a heaping blob that drooped down your temple. It was obvious that you had just rolled out of bed and he almost feels bad for disturbing your sleep, but he does not decide when his strokes of inspiration spontaneously appear. 

The living room is bombarded with Jungkook’s art supplies and stray canvases, and you take note of the clay sculpting table that blends in as furniture next to his kitchen. You plop yourself down on the stool across from Jungkook’s easel, eyes still half closed and impossibly tired.

 In this moment, Jungkook wipes the fact that you are his soulmate from his mind. He needs to do the portfolio. That is all he’s keeping you around for, and the only reason he agreed to your plan was so that you would remain his art model. 

In the silence of his makeshift art studio, Jungkook paints whatever comes to his mind, referencing your figure on the stool for the curves he can never get right without a model and need for a human presence to translate onto his canvas. You become more lucid as time goes by and the sun starts to rise from outside his window, sitting up straighter and paying more attention to his concentrated face as Jungkook pours himself into his creation. 

Looking at him in this light, you realize that he is beautiful. And not just because he’s your soulmate. Jungkook’s hair is scruffy and stubbled, undereyes sporting impressive dark circles. But the way he caresses the paintbrush and the way his body moves to the beat of the painting is poetic. He glances at you sporadically, eyes darting to and fro to capture as much as he can before the creativity burns out. He is beautiful and it makes your heart ache to know that he does not want you. In spite of the bond the universe has created. 

You wonder if in his focused hazed, he notices the new glaze across your eyes and the silent sound of your soul calling out for his. You wipe away the first dripping tear as quickly as it came. You know Jungkook sees, but does not bat an eye and you can’t tell if you’d rather prefer him to acknowledge it. 

It’s 8:00am when he puts the paintbrush down, takes a step back, and surveys his work. His eyes trail over each organic line and areas where he decided to use burnishing instead of cross hatching. It’s far from perfect, but it’s enough. 

“Okay. You’re free to go”, he announces, plucking the painting off the easel and resting it against the wall, hidden from your eyes. 

“W-What? That’s it?”, you sigh disappointedly, “you’re not even going to let me see it?” Jungkook shrugs. His detachedness makes you want to rip your hair out and sob into your pillow at the same time. You don’t understand how a person could be so unfazed. 

“S’not ready for debut. Thanks for showing up, though.” He doesn’t spare you another glance. Just goes back to cleaning his brushes and dumping out the glasses of murky paint water. You ignore the twinge of hurt in your chest and slide off the stool. 

“Okay, fine. Now it’s my turn. Would you like to go have some breakfast?”, you smile expectantly to Jungkook, who stares at you with an indifferent gaze. His first instinct is to make up a half-assed excuse to get out of this, eager to detach himself from you as much as possible and avoid any more interaction. However, he was insanely hungry, and the glimmer in your eye just looks so hopeful even Jungkook couldn’t bear to shoot you down.

He sighs with resignation. A little breakfast couldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t going with you necessarily. You were just...going to the same cafe in the same direction as him and likely sitting at the same table. Yeah, that’s it. 

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.” 

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance. 

“Yes. Now come on. I know a place with really great apple strudels.”

You weren’t aware that by ‘breakfast’, Jungkook actually meant sitting in complete silence and wolfing down food like your life depends on it. You want to be grossed out when he inhales 3 apple strudels in less than 10 minutes, crumbs flaking on his shirt without a care in the world. Yet you just feel endeared. The sight makes you smile. And maybe if Jungkook did not detest you, you would have leaned over and kissed the cinnamon sugar right off his lips. 

“So….”, you sip on a sweet coffee, “Jimin told me you’re going for a masters in art history?” 

Jungkook nods halfway through a bite of his pastry. “Yup.” 

“Is it something you’re really passionate about?” you inquire, desperately wanting the conversation to delve into something that wasn’t so surface level.

“Uh huh.”

“What are some other things you’re interested in besides art?”

“Totally.” 

Jungkook is completely clueless. He only spares glances to the windows and occasional looks to his oh so precious breakfast treats. You want to slap him and be angry, but you only sigh. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to your soulmate, yet it felt like trying to pull teeth when he was so completely disinterested in you. You wonder if this is worth it.

You look up at him from your steaming cappuccino cup and use your wildcard. 

“In my opinion, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus did little for the Italian Renaissance movement.” 

Your statement almost has Jungkook falling backwards in his chair and choking on a piece of fruit filling, eyes growing as wide as saucers when he finally processes what you just said. A flaming insult to the entire art historian community. 

“What do you know about Botticelli?”, he sneers, and you internally celebrate for this is the most emotion Jungkook has shown since meeting you. 

“I know that his work supposedly epitomizes the spirit of the Renaissance”, you swirl the coffee in your cup nonchalantly, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “But if you ask me, Bellini’s San Giobbe Altarpiece did much more to encapsulate the values of 15th century Italy.” 

Jungkook’s speechless expression is one that you want to take a snapshot of and frame it to your wall. It is glorious, and arguably more artful to you than Botticelli himself. So what, you had conveniently forgot to mention to him about the class you took junior year of college, with a professor that made you engrave the fundamentals of Italian painting in your brain. It’s so much more gratifying to see him stunned silent. 

Across the table from you, Jungkook feels a warm smile itching to display itself. Before it can appear, he disguises it as a cold smirk. He feels something akin to a butterfly at the pit of his stomach, but blames it on indigestion and the inhuman pace at which he devoured his breakfast. Yeah that must be it. There was no way he was feeling butterflies. 

He cracks his knuckles, raises his cup to gulp down a lukewarm green tea, and rests his elbows on the table separating the both of you.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me your thoughts on the influences of neo-classicism in the 18th century?” 

◑

“No, Y/N, turn to your left a little”, Jungkook frustratedly sighs behind the camera lens.

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.” 

To any outside eye, you and Jungkook look like two buffoons trying to take pictures on what might possibly be the windiest day of the season, under the peach blossom trees. Jungkook had called you earlier that day and stressed about how he needed mixed media in his beloved portfolio, and photographs were the next topic of interest. Though you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just set out a fruit bowl on his windowsill and call it still life photography.

Jungkook stares down at his camera, dissatisfaction clear on his face. You almost want to apologize for your abhorrent modeling skills but hey, he was the one that chose you. 

“Hmm...try staring at that boat in the distance”, he dictates, standing beside you and aiming the lens at your side profile. You do as he asks, but don’t hear the shutter of the camera. Jungkook sighs again and leans forward, so close you could feel his warm breath hitting your skin. You hope he doesn’t notice the beet blush on your cheeks.

Jungkook’s hands meet your chin when he uses it to slightly tilt your face downwards. He positions you in the way that he wants you to pose and you finally understand why photography is considered an art. Because it’s almost as if Jungkook is molding you like clay, to get the silhouette he wants to capture with his camera lens. The day is brisk, but his skin on your’s lights you on fire. 

“Okay, that’s…..that’s perfect”, Jungkook breathes, hurriedly picking up the camera that had been hanging onto his neck by the strap and angling it. At the moment his index finger presses down on the button, there is a gust of wind that surrounds the both of you.

The breeze loosens a strand of your hair and it falls into your eyes. You let your eyes drift close for a second, smiling into the cold air that tingles on your skin. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he thanks the skies for the howling wind so you wouldn’t be able to hear his thumping heartbeat. But surely it’s only because it’s cold. And absolutely nothing else. Jungkook coughs inconspicuously to snap himself out of his trance, sighing in relief when he realizes your eyes are still closed and that you hadn’t noticed his internal struggle. 

He drags you to a bridge next and makes you lay on the cold wood to which you vehemently object before you remember that he’s paying you and that you want him to fall in love with you, not dislike you more than he already does. After the bridge, Jungkook makes you kneel beside the park pond and dip your hand in the icy water and you find yourself wanting to do the same thing to his precious camera. 

Before the two of you have realized, the sun sets into the horizon and tinges the sky in a combination of purples and pinks that Jungkook himself has a hard time replicating on canvas. He aims his lens at the clouds and takes a picture that he knows won’t make it into his gallery. He just felt the need to have something to remember this day by. For no reason in particular…

A buzzing coming from your coat pocket alerts you both of the time that has passed and how the sky has considerably darkened since you began the session. When you fish your phone out, Jimin’s contact photo is staring back at you while the marimba ringtone continues playing. You put the phone on speaker.

“Hey Jiminie”, you smile and Jungkook catches a glance of it. And the discomfort in his chest is definitely, 100%, not jealousy. Not at all.

“I told you not to call me that! What is with you younger people and your disrespect for the elderly?” The corner of Jungkook’s lips twitch into a subtle smile at the similarity of your’s and his conversations with Jimin. 

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

“Can you come home ASAP? I may or may not have broken the stove trying to make soup.” 

The redundancy of his confession makes you sigh, as Park Jimin desecrating your shared kitchen space was not a rare occurrence by any means. 

“I’ll be right there”, you chided through the line, “please do not cook anything else before I arrive.” 

“Thanks Y/N-ie, you’re the best!” Jimin’s voice is far too cheery and you make a mental note to nag him a little extra when you get home. The phone call is ended promptly and you turn around to Jungkook, eyes widening in surprise when he has already packed up all his photography gear. The sky had turned dark and the streetlights had been turned on to illuminate the park. If you had craned your neck upwards, you would have noticed the stars that awoke again to shine down upon the city. But you didn’t. You only saw the stars that were twinkling in Jungkook’s eyes. 

“Uh”, he stammers, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.” 

“Oh! Uh...Thanks.” Though he was still cold and indifferent, your heart jumped in elation. Perhaps this could be considered baby steps. 

The trip home is quiet, only the sounds of your tandem footsteps on pavement and the rustle of a breeze through tree leaves fill the space of silence. But the quiet is not uncomfortable. Just a bit awkward as you two try to figure out how to be around one another. Jungkook’s hands are shoved in his pockets and your fingers itch to intertwine themselves around his own. To press your soulmate marks together and feel them calling out to each other. But you and Jungkook are anything but normal soulmates. For you are already head over heels in love with him and he is adamant on not sparing you a crumb of affection. 

To your disdain, the apartment was closer than you thought and the short walk with Jungkook ended before it really even began. You could practically hear Jimin’s impatience emanating from the third story of the building. 

“So I’ll see you later?”, you smile meekly. Jungkook readjusts the strap of his camera bag before nodding. He is walking away before you turn around to enter the apartment building and even though it was something small and mundane, you wished he would have waited to see you get in safely. You make your way inside, more downcast than you had been before.

You don’t see when Jungkook turns around. You don’t feel the reassurance that washes over him when the door shuts safely behind you. 

That night, Jungkook is reminded far too much of Yoojung. When he goes to make his usual chamomile, he finds her mug at the very back of the tea cabinet. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her stuff. When he spoons in the sugar, he remembers how Yoojung drinks her tea with honey instead. And when he feels himself start to fall apart, he remembers how Yoojung is not there to keep him together. 

Jungkook pushes away his pain, abandons the lukewarm mug of tea, and opts for an early bedtime to sleep away the ache. The camera sitting on his nightstand, though, beckons him to look over the photos you both had taken that afternoon. 

In the moment, he had been dissatisfied with the pictures, always thinking there must be a better angle or a better position you could shift into. However when he looks down at his camera now, in the quiet and solemnity of his bedroom, Jungkook can’t help but to think they are absolutely perfect. 

He doesn’t know whether to credit his own artistic skill or you; for breathing life into his photographs. It’s the lines of your hands, the slope of your nose, and the stray strands of your hair that makes his pictures more human. 

The ones he ends up picking though, are not perfectly  staged and not the ones where he made you change the position of your stance for 10 minutes. No, the best pictures were the ones he took without you noticing. When you had just been enjoying the cool breeze or admiring the beauty of peach blossom season. When you point out a cool looking bird and when you stared annoyedly past the cameras lens (at him no doubt). 

Yoojung is gone from his mind for just a tiny fleeting moment. For little reason at all, Jungkook finds himself smiling. And there is only the company of the moon to see it. 

◒

 It is ten o’ clock in the morning and Jungkook comes to a realization that in the couple weeks since he has met you, he has sighed more times than he has in the past 23 years of life. Jungkook sighs when you text him first thing in the morning about the dream you had the night before and describe it in painfully vivid details. He leaves them unanswered. Sometimes he wished you would just email him the google document instead. He sighs when you fidget in your seat when he’s trying to paint and keep focus, but you are only interested in asking him the snacks he has in his fridge or when he’s going to finish. He sighs when you and Jimin collectively trash his art studio by spamming his $1,000 camera with ugly face pictures and sword fighting with his sable paint brushes. Jungkook often has a hard time believing that both of you are in graduate school. 

Today, he sighs when you bombard into room 62B of the art building; what is supposed to be Jungkook’s completely zen and peaceful creative space. You are tiptoeing around him as you always do, scared that you’ll do something to set him off and your soulmate will disown you for good. He glances at you once, eyes quickly darting back to the sculpture he is molding on the clay table and saying nothing. 

“There’s a new cafe that just opened right across from the apple strudel place”, you gulp tensely. “I was gonna go check out the competition.” Your words seem deaf to Jungkook’s ear and he only furrows his eyebrows, fingers fussing over the mass of clay. There was just something he couldn’t get right. He didn’t know what it was. 

Jungkook pushes away the sculpture frustratedly, wipes his hands on his apron, and finally looks at you. Maybe he did need a break and come back to it with fresh eyes. That’s all it was, though. A break. He wasn’t going because you asked him to. 

“They better have blonde roast otherwise you’ll be compensating me for my time.” Jungkook is as ruthless and blunt as ever and you decide to look past it as you always do. Him agreeing to go with you was a mini success. 

“Welcome in! You’ve stopped by at the perfect time. The strawberry scones have just been taken out of the oven!” The cafe employee is far too enthusiastic for receiving minimum wage and greeting grumpy people off the streets who just want to be caffeinated. His name tag reads Jung Hoseok. 

“Oh, strawberry is my favorite”, you whisper, the statement only meant for your ears but Jungkook picks up on it anyway. He declines to tell you that strawberry is his favorite as well. Hoseok’s eyes light up when you and Jungkook approach the entrance, like he finally succeeded at luring a customer. 

The cafe isn’t anything special. A bit more modern compared to the one across the street and you think you prefer the latter because this new one doesn’t have the owner’s handsome son standing at the cash register. He may not be your soulmate, but even you had to admit Kim Seokjin was a beautiful man if there ever was one. However, this cafe is warm and has ceiling length windows that let in an obscene amount of sunlight. Jungkook makes a mental note to try some pictures here in the future. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in his pocket and you are already leaving him behind in the dust, walking straight to the counter and peering up at the menu deep in thought. You turn around to see that he is immersed in mysterious conversation, and take it upon yourself to order him a drink. 

“I’ll have a matcha latte. And uh…”, you decide, trailing off as you wonder what kind of drink Jungkook would enjoy. “And an iced vanilla mocha latte, extra whipped cream, extra chocolate syrup. Do you guys have rainbow sprinkles?” 

A little sugar never hurt anyone. Especially someone so often bitter like your one and only soulmate. 

When Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the corner table where you are situated, the sight of the concoction on the table is enough to give him an instant cavity. You hide your smile behind the mug of matcha. He grumbles and sits down swiftly, sticking the straw past his lips in defiance and you can only watch expectantly. 

“Well…do you like it?” 

This is when Jungkook realizes you didn’t order this to spite him. You just had completely zero idea what he liked and disliked and chose the first thing you thought was best. As cold as he is, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he drinks coffee, he likes it black. No cream, no sugar, and the darkest roast with the most caffeine to push him through those nights spent in front of a canvas or over a clay table. 

Jungkook fights to keep steady from the ambush of sugar and wills himself to swallow it down. There is sticky chocolate syrup on his hands and it feels cosmically more uncomfortable than paint. But Jungkook manages to look up at you and nod, to which you reward with a smile. 

“I knew you would like it”, you say smugly, giving yourself a mental pat on the back. “You look like you have a giant sweet tooth.” There is a mellow giggle that follows your statement. Jungkook feels a flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and convinces himself it’s only because it sounds so much like Yoojung. He catches sight of the moon on your wrist, and pushes the feeling away even farther. 

The two of you spend the rest of the midday there, tucked away in a corner of a cafe and losing track of time as you always do. Jungkook finds himself forgetting about the mountains of work he has to do to finish his art gallery portfolio, and the unfinished sculpture back at the studio that’s just not right. 

Today, he allows himself to enjoy your presence and get to know you more. Your favorite color is yellow. You had a dog named Benny when you were a child. You detest beer with a passion, but enjoy a nightly glass of pinot grigio. Jungkook barely notices when the entire cup of coffee has disappeared. Every last rainbow sprinkle.

On second thought, he feels that maybe there was something sweeter than his unexpectedly delicious iced vanilla mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Maybe that something was sitting right across from him, rambling about the fundamentals of English literature with unexplained vigor. 

Jungkook’s soul feels lighter when he goes to bed that night. And when he finally succumbs to Morpheus, his last lucid thought is of you; sun beams coming from the large cafe windows that comb through your hair. He looks at you through his mind’s eye and all he can see is the potential heartbreak you have the power to put him through. The fan of your eyelashes. The curve of your smile. The plush of your lips. All he can see is Yoojung as she crushes his soul in her bare hands. 

Yet in the midst of his internal conflict, Jungkook’s subconscious allows him to fall in love with you a little bit. Perhaps not love just yet, but affection. Like a toe dip in uncharted waters or sticking his finger in a bowl of creamy cake batter just for a taste. The walls he has built are still there, strong as ever, but perhaps a couple bricks look a bit askew. He doesn’t know, but his soul calls out to your’s through the fortress.

◐

“Y/N I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“Oh hush, just close your eyes and point where your heart tells you to.”

In the lobby of a train station, facing a map and an ETA board is where you and Jungkook will be embarking on your next “date but not really because you don’t believe in soulmates so let’s just hang out”. It had taken a good two hours of nagging and whining on your part to convince him to abandon his portfolio for just a little bit to go an outing. Now standing here, with you excitedly bouncing next to him and a mystery destination, Jungkook feels something akin to utter regret. 

“What if I choose somewhere that’s a thousand miles away? Or just in the middle of nowhere?”, Jungkook groans, still putting up an unbothered and cold front. 

“Well then we will go somewhere that’s a thousand miles away or in the middle of nowhere”, you quipped back at him. Jungkook had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one. 

He reluctantly places a hand over his eyes, sighing with resignation before pointing to a random spot on the map. There is a giggle that sounds to his left and Jungkook finds himself wanting to hear more. 

“Wonderful choice”, you smiled, “couldn’t have picked it better myself.” 

Jungkook peeked his eyes open one at a time, scared of seeing what his intuition has chosen for your guys’ spontaneous destination. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that his fingers landed on a town on the outskirts of the city, 20 minutes away from the university. He silently thanks the universe for not sabotaging his wallet and time. 

“We’re never doing this again, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks as you are in front of him, skipping happily to the front desk to buy two train tickets. 

“Wasn’t it fun, though? The thrill?”, you chuckle at his demeanor, to which he only shakes his head vehemently. You note the newest thing you’ve just learned about Jungkook: he has an aversion to uncertainty and spontaneity. 

The train ride was as brief as it was uneventful. You spent the time rambling to Jungkook about all the quips and quirks about yourself and he only listened. Though he kept quiet, his face was free of any annoyance or indication that you were speaking too much. Jungkook only stared at you and unknowing to you, he soaked in every bit of information like a sponge. If anyone asked, he could tell them what foods you were allergic to, what colors wash you out, and what vegetables you hated the most. 

“Wow you didn’t have to pick somewhere so far away, Jungkook.” You muse as the two of you step out of the train car. So far away in fact, that if you were to crane your head up enough, you would be able to see the university from a distance. 

“Hey, you were the one who made me choose”, Jungkook spares a rare smile, “Would you rather we have shelled out our wallets to go on an 18-hour train ride?”

“Okay, fair point.”

The city was as abundant as it was big, and the both of you walked aimlessly from avenue to avenue, stopping occasionally whenever you see a dog you just can’t help but to pet or whenever Jungkook complained about his sore feet. As cold and indifferent as Jungkook made himself out to be, you’ve quickly come to realize that he’s actually a big baby. He still hasn’t let you in or even lowered his walls by a tiny centimeter, but you like to think that even agreeing to go anywhere with you could be considered significant progress.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the pounding of his heart whenever his hands graze against your’s, walking side by side so close he can feel the heat emanating through your coat. He doesn’t notice the peace he feels, just the synchronicity of his feet as he places them on the pavement. 

The fraught wind that blows straight at Jungkook’s face prompts him to look up from where his eyes were cast on the ground. He almost staggers at how strong it is, but finds himself weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

Of course.

Of all the days, of all the times, of all the people in this entire city.

Of course she had to be the one that was currently staring at him from across the intersection. 

The red light seems to go on forever. Either that or time has just spontaneously frozen, Jungkook can’t tell. But his eyes are fixed on hers and his feet bolster him to the concrete when all he wants to do is sprint the other way and forget he ever saw this ghost from the past. 

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him. 

She’s gained some weight and her cheeks have filled out, but it looks healthy on her now (Jungkook always chided her for forgetting to eat). She stares at him with a combination of shock and guilt and something he wants to overthink into affection but he won’t give himself that satisfaction anymore. She dyed her hair. Light brown looks good on her. 

She looks...happy. As happy as anyone can look when they’re rushing through thick crowds of a city, traffic horns blaring like a dilapidated symphony. 

In the heat of it all, it’s impossible for you not to notice Jungkook’s sudden change in demeanor or the way he has suddenly stopped breathing. When you follow his gaze, there is a girl on the other side of the street that shares the same starstruck expression and even from the outside looking in, you can feel the weight of something painful in his eyes. In her stature. 

When the lights turn green, the throngs of city dwellers migrate across and you stay beside Jungkook when he doesn’t move a muscle. Not even a finger twitch. But she does. And he can only fight to keep the ache away when Yoojung gets closer with every millisecond. Until she is standing right in front of him and he can smell her familiar vanilla perfume. 

“Jungkook”, she speaks, apprehension in her voice. “It’s been a while...how are you?” 

Yoojung only spares you a side glance while keeping attention on Jungkook and you only grow more curious as to who this strange woman is. 

He wants to speak so badly but his tongue remains frozen. He turns to you with flabbergast in his eyes and shakes his head to snap out of the daze of confusion. Of seeing the love of his life again. Or who he thought was the love of his life. 

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?” 

You didn’t know why but the words that came from his lips made you feel disappointed. Perhaps you were just stupid for thinking he would introduce you. Tell her that you’re his soulmate and scream it at the top of his lungs with sheer pride. But your imagination has hurt you countless times and you had a feeling this one wouldn’t be the last. You manage a curt nod and push away the twinge in your heart. There was a boundary between you and Jungkook and today was not the day to cross it and introduce yourself as his soulmate to any random stranger. 

Once you are out of vicinity and have found solace in a bookstore 10 feet away, Jungkook allows himself to breathe in Yoojung’s presence. 

“I didn’t know if you were still in the city”, he falters, voice coming out quieter than he would have liked it to. But what was he supposed to sound like confronting the supposed love of his life. 

“I never left, Jungkook...my entire life is here.” She sighs, smiling lightly with eyes seeping with guilt. 

He scoffs. “I don’t know Yoojung, you seem to leave behind important things pretty easily.” Jungkook feels himself getting angrier and resentful by the second, and though he knows it is unfair of him, Yoojung’s mere presence brings back all the wounds he never truly healed from. 

Granted, on a concrete sidewalk next to a traffic light pole was not the best place to have a heart to heart about failed relationships. But when has the universe ever given Jungkook the best things in life. He is devastatingly cynical for someone who dedicates his career to art. 

Yoojung wears a frown on her face, but there is no vindictiveness there. Just an overwhelming sense of remorse that Jungkook communicates as pity. 

“I don’t know how else to say that I’m sorry”, she sighs, eyes falling to the ground. Jungkook wishes it would just open up and swallow him whole. 

“Then don’t say anything.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait! Jungkook can we...can’t we catch up or something? For a couple minutes?” Yoojung is visibly desperate, and her hands are outstretched as if wanting to touch him but keeping herself from overstepping the line. 

Jungkook glances through the window of the bookstore, and you are situated on a chair, already nose deep in a hefty book. He wants to smile and tease you for being such a nerd, but the weight of Yoojung’s presence makes him reinforce those walls of indifference tenfold. 

He exhales frustration and inhales temptation, looking back into Yoojung’s familiar eyes and nodding. Jungkook walks to a nearby bench and sits down with no words exchanged, looking forward coldly even when he feels her warmth next to him. A couple months ago, Jungkook would have set all his canvases on fire to feel her beside him again. Now, he’s not so sure.

“So…”, she starts, “who’s that cute girl you were with?” 

“No one.” He shoots out a little too soon with no hesitation. Yoojung gulps.

“You know Jungkook, it’s okay to find someone. I-I know I hurt you, but I’m glad if you’ve found someone who doesn’t.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything so she continues.

“I’m really happy for-”

“I never really forgave you Yoojung.” He stares blankly at the passersby and tries to ignore the ache in his bones. The one that’s been there the day she left and took a piece of his heart with her. 

“And I don’t want to blame you for my decisions but I want you to know that I push away a lot of people because of you. People that don’t deserve it.” From the corner of his eye, he can see her nod solemnly to his words and fidget with her hands in her lap. Part of him feels guilty for unloading on Yoojung. Part of him feels like maybe he deserves to. 

“What you did was really shitty. Astronomically fucking shitty. And I’ve spent the past eternity hating you and maybe I still do, but…”, Jungkook takes a deep breath, “I want to forgive you now. If not fully, then partially. I hope you can understand that.” He finally tilts his head to look at her and though the smile on her face is as beautiful as he remembers it to be, Jungkook no longer feels the longing. No longer feels the sting that he usually does when his thoughts take him back to the years they spent together. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to call it closure, not yet anyway. Sitting here on the bench, he still wants to scream and yell and tell Yoojung of all the nights he’s spent alone since she left. He still wants to drag her back and wonder if she could love him again like she used to. 

But he doesn’t. He listens when she tells him about her new job and her new apartment right by the lakeside. They share snippets of their separate lives. Just deep enough to rekindle something warm but shallow enough to not invite anything else in. 

When he walks away from the bench and into the bookstore, Jungkook stills feels the walls that he has built around himself. He is still scared of opening up and being vulnerable but the anger held for Yoojung for so long is no longer a raging fire. More so a wickering flame. 

When he spots you, though, he remembers why he built those walls in the first place. He remembers how easy it used to be for him to climb a high peak and fall to his demise. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of him, lips curling into a wide smile and clear excitement in your expression. The book in your hands is tossed aside and tunnel vision reserved for him and him only. Something blooms in his chest and he can’t remember the last time someone’s been so elated to just simply see him...aside from his dog. Jungkook reminds himself to act uncaring. If he pretends long enough, he’ll start to believe it himself. 

◓

The train ride home feels longer than the one there. The minutes drag by and perhaps it is because of your drooping eyes or the way Jungkook is looking at you with a different tenderness than he has been before. His stare is not harsh. It’s soft and sweet, but subtle enough for you to wonder if you are just imagining it. The night has always been unforgiving and cold even in the spring, but perhaps all that’s needed to breathe some warmth, is a 15 minute train ride and a wrist with a crescent moon.

Yet every time you become more smitten with Jungkook, there is a harsh reminder that follows you everywhere like a designated storm cloud. 

Jungkook does not love you. And you are trying and you will continue to try but his eyes tell you something he is too courteous to say. You see it now as he sits across from you and admires the skyline from the window. It makes you wonder if it is soulmates he doesn’t believe in, or if it is just you that he can’t bring himself to accept. With every cold glance and wall that he puts up, you start to convince yourself that it is the latter.

“We’re here, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks quietly, interrupting your drifting thoughts. He turns around and leaves the train car with hands tucked in his coat pocket. Did you expect him to escort you out and hold your hand? Of course not. But you were tired of Jungkook being so indifferent to your existence. 

You follow him glumly out the doors that slide close after you step through. Then it zips off again and you wonder where it would have taken you if you just stayed in your seat. If Jungkook would have even noticed that you hadn’t followed him when he left. 

You sigh into the night air and wish it was winter so that your breath could be visible as a white cloud. Maybe then Jungkook would notice that you were a living being beside him. 

“Who was that girl that we met back there?”, you murmur hesitantly. Jungkook nearly chokes on air. 

“No one”, he responds curtly, effectively cutting off the conversation then and there. It makes your heart sink. She must be important and all you want to do is know every single detail about their relationship, but the look in his eyes warn you to not pry. 

You don’t think you can forget the way Jungkook looked at her from across the street. Like he had been lost this whole time and she was the North star. You saw the way his eyes twinkled in the midday sun and sparkled even more when she came closer. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to have that effect on him. 

“Hey, next time you should pick a place you and I both do not live in”, you giggle, nudging his shoulder with your own. It makes him smile and even though your heart feels heavy in your chest, Jungkook looks so beautiful when he smiles. 

The two pair of feet subconsciously carry you both to the front door of your apartment building and the scene is too familiar from the last time. You expect him to turn around and whisper a hushed goodnight under his breath, and you’ll have to watch the back of his head disappear down the street. But he doesn’t. Just stands across from you quietly and waits for you to say something. So you do. 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry if I brought up something you didn’t want to remember. I don’t really know your story but it seems you two have a lot of history.” You want to tell him how hard it is for you to be his soulmate when he is so clearly vying for the warmth of someone else. Someone who didn’t have a crescent moon on her wrist. 

“I know you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready, and if that’s never then I’ll keep waiting until forever. But I’m here if you want to talk or unload and I already know I can help because…” you fidget with your hands and look around nervously. 

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.” 

When you say it loud and explicitly, Jungkook thought the statement would have made him recoil. But it doesn’t. It just seeps through his consciousness and feels warm when he thinks about the weight of those words. You are his soulmate, regardless of if he believes in such a thing or not. You carry the same mark as he does on your wrist and somehow, by some intangible factor, the universe had decided that you were created for him and he for you. 

And when he looks at you. Really looks at you. When Jungkook processes your sincere words and how you manage to deal with his insurmountable boundaries even when you barely know him…

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more. 

So he does. 

Your lips taste like mint chewing gum and the ghost of words you wish to tell him but can’t. He feels you stiffen until you completely melt in his hold, and Jungkook cradles your face with both his hands, pulling you closer to him until there is no barrier between you but the clothes on your back and the emotional distance. You feel so far away even when you’re this near. Was it a trick of your imagination when you felt the moon on your wrist tingling? 

It doesn’t last as long as you would’ve liked it to. Jungkook yanks his hands from you like your skin scalded him and takes several steps back. His chest rises up and down violently when his breath comes out ragged, posture stiffening as the gravity of what just happened finally absorbs. You’re there, he knows you’re there and standing in front of him. So why is it he can only see Yoojung. Yoojung and the star on her wrist and apologies on her lips. Yoojung and the tears in her eyes when she walks away. 

You can only stare confusedly when his body goes rigid, and a sudden coldness envelops you both. 

And in the haze of post-embrace, like any two normal lovers, you catch something in his eyes that sets a heavy feeling in your stomach. Before you can confirm if it’s just a trick of the light, Jungkook is already running in the opposite direction and you can only see a shadow of sullen love that follows him. He is gone and you are standing alone, wondering how moonlight could feel so cold even on a spring night. 

You don’t get any sleep that night. Every time you close your eyes, there is only the sight of Jungkook’s disgust and regret to lull you to dreams. 

20 minutes away from your apartment, there is a boy who doesn’t sleep either. He won’t text or call to tell you that he can’t shake off the feeling of your skin on his and your breath fanning his cheek. He won’t admit to himself that tonight, when he looked at you, he felt the possibility of falling in love. He won’t tell you that the moon on his skin longs to be traced by your hands. No, he just shares those secrets with his pillow as its linen soaks up his tears. 

In the midst of it all, there is one verdict that becomes clear to him.

Jungkook wishes he had never told Jimin he needed a muse.

◑

The next three weeks is dedicated to trying to get in touch with your soulmate. Through the whirlwinds of utter confusion and desperation, you try texting, calling, emailing, even showing up at his art studio and apartment to no avail. It seemed he had a talent for avoiding soulmates. 

It hurt, to say the least. That he left you high and dry after giving you the most intense

kiss of your life and doesn’t even have the decency to let you know he’s alive. The feeling of his lips still burns on your skin and you wonder if you are a complete fool for being so smitten with a person who, quite possibly, hasn’t spared you a single thought after that night. You just want - no you just need some clarity. 

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying. 

It is an impossibly sunny day when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping like a contortionist and your heart aches even more than your muscles with every passing morning with radio silence from your soulmate. You want to call him and tell him you’re sorry. That you’ll forget anything ever happened. It hurts to even think about it, but for Jungkook, you would go through a little more pain so he would let you into his life. 

Outside the hall, Jimin is singing along to a familiar melody of a song you don’t know the name of and judging by the aroma that wafts through the cracks of your door, he has successfully made a pot of coffee. He has been an anchor throughout this whole thing, and sometimes you make a secret wish to the stars that Jimin had been the one with a crescent moon on his wrist instead. Perhaps that way, you wouldn’t have to go through the agony of chasing love that is constantly sprinting away from you. 

Your phone lays on the bedside table and buzzes innocently to start the morning. When you reach over and scroll through notifications routinely, there is a name there that makes your heart pang. Makes you want to throw up and celebrate at the same time. A text from Jungkook. Your fingers shake as you open it. 

I no longer need a model for the portfolio. Thank you for your involvement. Compensation will be provided promptly. 

The day you met him, you already knew that Jungkook was cold. He never dawdled around a painful truth or toed the line between bluntness and sparing feelings. Jungkook spoke his mind, collateral damage be damned. But this is a different type of cold. This one feels more like dry ice on warm skin. Like the numbing chill of a fading hope. Like winter’s first snowfall when autumn had promised you it would forever stay. 

Phone in your hand and tears threatening to drip down your cheeks, you wish you would have waited a bit more before opening his text. Perhaps that way you could have spent the rest of your morning basking in the spring sun, drinking Jimin’s inevitably bad coffee, having hope that Jeon Jungkook would grow to care for you. Perhaps if you hadn’t opened it so soon, your soulmate would still seem in reach. 

Jimin’s mug nearly drops out of his hand when the door of your bedroom is slammed open. He flings it to the side when he notices your red-rimmed eyes and the shaking hands that clutch onto a cellphone. You scream and sob at the universe, at anyone, asking why it was you that had to experience the chaos of longing. Jimin was there to hold you, as he always is, and helplessly listen to the sound of your heart breaking once again by the hands of Jungkook.

◒

Room 62B of the art building is a place you hope to never have to visit again. Though it’s walls contain memories of you and Jungkook, and the evenings navigating his gallery portfolio along with your convoluted relationship, the wallpaper bleeds with a longing ache. A yearning pain. And if those walls could talk, you don’t think you would want them to say anything at all. They would only murmur what you are slowly accepting to be true.

Jungkook, your soulmate, wants nothing to do with you. 

When you hesitantly rap on the door with a fisted hand, the sound of him rustling from inside makes you want to run the opposite direction. It opens before you get the chance to change your mind and the sight of him nearly takes your breath away. He is beautiful as he always is, hair ruffled and mussed from undoubtedly running his hands through it compulsively. His lips are pink from biting on them and the dark circles under his eyes tells you of the dreams he has deprived himself of. 

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours. 

“Y/N...I sent you a text earlier.” His voice is saccharine but the words taste so bitter. 

“I know. I read it”, you murmur, shrinking in on yourself. 

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?” 

His eyes dart around nervously at your question, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping the toe of his shoe as if he was impatient and you were bothering him. And you have known that simply being around Jungkook hurts but the light at the end of the tunnel only continues dwindling. 

You understand why he is acting so restless when your gaze drifts past him and into the room. There is a girl perched on a stool, across from a canvas and easel that you know awfully well. You don’t recognize her but it’s only in your nature to begin comparing every aspect of yourself to this stranger. She sits on her hands and swings her legs back and forth, head in the clouds and eyes trailing the ceiling. She isn’t aware of the weight of her presence in the studio, nor the turmoil she has brought to you, who is standing just outside the door. 

The oxygen in the hallway thins and the breath you’ve been waiting to release since knocking catches in your throat. Coming here, you prepared yourself for a long and inevitably heart-wrenching talk with your soulmate. But you hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had replaced you overnight. 

The only thought that blares through your mind is that this is your fault. For letting yourself think you were worth more to Jeon Jungkook than any other stranger. You can no longer find it in yourself to be angry at him. Just yourself. 

“You…”, you gulp down a whimper, “you replaced me.” 

Jungkook follows your vacant stare past him and sighs, realizing you had most likely deducted what this scene looked like. You would be right. Between the weeks of trying to understand what you were to him and the impending due date of the portfolio, Jungkook was sure the best way to move past this confusion was to just speed full steam ahead. That meant finding another muse. You were no longer an option.

You only stare down at the floor, but Jungkook begins speaking anyway. 

“Y/N, I…I’m sorry.” You scoff at his words, feigning anger when inside, you truly didn’t know if you could piece yourself back together this time. 

“Look, Y/N. It’s not you. It’s just that…”, he breathes deep, not knowing why it was so hard to say. “I’ve stopped believing soulmates were truly a thing a long time ago. I’m sorry.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve heard these words but it doesn’t mean they hurt any less.

“I didn’t want to initiate anything, Y/N, but you did and I let you and that was my fault to let anything start. I shouldn’t have when I knew nothing would come of it.”

It was a fault to him. It never should have happened. 

“So you just thought you would kiss me and decide that I meant nothing to you afterwards?”

“It was a mistake.” It was painful to think it but when you hear Jungkook say it, you experience a new kind of ache. A humorless chuckle bubbles past your throat.

 “I really thought you would grow to love me. Now I know it’s not your fault that I’m a complete fool. To fall head over heels for my soulmate who wishes he had never even met me. Much less share a mark.” 

You can see Jungkook’s eyes widen at your confession, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It was the truth. He deserved to hear it. 

“You shouldn’t. You can’t.” He reaches up to pull at his hair frustratedly.

“Can’t what, Jungkook? Love you? You think I want to be in love with someone who wishes I didn’t exist?” You hate your voice for breaking, but its impossibly painful when he does nothing to deny your statement. 

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? What can I say to make this better?”

Try: I love you too.

“I don’t need you to say anything you don’t mean, Jungkook.” 

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

Jeon Jungkook is cruel even when he doesn’t mean to be. There is oblivion in his gaze, and his question is one of genuine curiosity. But it still stabs you exactly where your heart is most tender. Yes, I should have left. 

“I guess I thought you were worth the pain, Jungkook. When you pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me, I thought you were worth hurting for just to try a little more. Worth the uncertainty of being around you but never getting to actually be with you”, you numbly mutter, uncaring about the rivulets of tears down your face. Not like it wasn’t something he’s never seen before. There is more to come on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook stays quiet to let you speak. There is conflict in his vision, but you don’t want to give yourself the false hope that he cares for you. 

Look where that has gotten you before. 

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

Saying the words are revelation for you as much as it is for him. All this time, you’ve been running away from the truth in the pursuit of your soulmate. You hadn’t realized that the chase led you astray. 

“And I know that loving me is not easy. I’m…”, you force the words out so he can at least hear your turmoil by his hands. “I’m never really good enough for anyone. Why did I expect that I would be good enough for you?” 

Jungkook’s expression crumples into a frown. “Y/N, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“You don’t have to tell me what you mean, Jungkook. I meet you and the first thing you say is that you don’t believe in such a thing. I try to get close to you and all you know to do is push me away. And I try so hard to be enough but how can I when Yoojung still has your heart? So you don’t have to say it. I know what you mean.” You’ve stopped crying but the ache relents, and you can only look desperately at the boy who’s slipping from your grasp with every passing second. 

“I’m sorry.” The message is redundant.

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid. 

“I just can’t love you.”

The words make their way past his lips before he can stop them, and they shoot through your core ruthlessly. A sharpened dagger to soft flesh. It manifests itself in a physical pain that reverberates across your chest, and when the last strength left in you is used to stare at Jungkook through a pained and teary gaze, you are deaf to everything but those four words.

I can’t love you.

I can’t love you. 

I can’t love you. 

You’re not sure what he is sorry for at this point. If Jungkook is apologizing for not loving you, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry for entertaining the possibility, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry that you are the one with a crescent moon on your wrist, well...you don’t blame him either. All your life you cherished it like some kind of gift from the universe. Now, nursing your crumbling soul in front of Jungkook, you wish it had never appeared in the first place. 

You shake your head, tucking your lip in between your teeth to stop the sob in your chest from escaping. Through the crack of the door Jungkook hadn’t shut fully, the girl was still there, patiently sitting where you were supposed to and making herself scarce after inevitably hearing you bare your heart to a boy who had no interest in it. 

Humiliation goes hand in hand with heartbreak, and the embarrassment that comes with confessing your love and insecurity urges your feet to run home. But even you cannot deprive yourself of looking at him one more time. 

His wavy head of hair. The scar on his cheekbone that makes him look even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gloss in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looks at you through stone cold walls. You commit it to memory, however painful, before you walk out of his life. 

“Be happy, Jungkook.” 

You truly mean it. 

◐

 The sound of your footsteps getting farther away from him is a sound Jungkook thinks he’ll remember for a long time. It almost prompts him to run after you, cradle you to his chest, and profess how sorry he is again and again until you can truly feel the sincerity. But he doesn’t. Only remains behind the self-procured walls and watches when your figure disappears down the hallway. 

Cold. Unbothered. Indifferent. That’s what he had always told himself when it came to you. But the hallway feels so lonely and the ghost of your presence feels even lonelier, and Jungkook wonders if he had been wrong. 

He walks back into the studio, permanent frown on his face and shoulders hunched over in stress. The paintbrush feels like a stranger rather than an extension of his arm, as it always does, but Jungkook begins painting anyway. Looking at the girl in front of him, he is reminded of the look on your face when you realized he had replaced you completely in the span of three weeks, without even giving you a notice. Her presence in his art studio suddenly feels entirely suffocating. 

“Mina, Get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out of my studio. I don’t need you as a model, anymore. Thanks.” His voice cut through the tension of the room, like a hot knife to butter. He recognizes it as the voice he always forces himself to use around you, and grows even more aggravated. 

The girl scoffs annoyedly, snatching her handbag from the floor and rushing out of the room. Obviously she had thought something more was to come from Jungkook’s art arrangement. He made sure to let her know that was not the case. 

There is a gnawing in his chest. Deep and subtle, but it becomes more prominent as the window view from his studio turns from blue to black. He ponders about spending the night in here, instead of going home to his bedroom where he is forced to consult with the agony of solitude. On top of everything today, Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that. 

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pain in your face when he tells you that he can’t love you and he hears the shaking in your voice when you tell him the things that weighed on your soul. He thought the word “wither” was only reserved for flowers. Jungkook didn’t realize a person could wither until he saw it right in front of him. 

In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could love you or not. And to Jungkook, that was already a feat in itself. He’s spent so many months convincing himself that his emotional fortress was impregnable. So many nights over whiskey bottles telling himself that love was only for fools and pretenders. To be uncertain about love, now, well...that’s something he is not yet ready to admit to himself. Much less admit to you. But letting you any closer was a fatal game. 

Being uncertain about love means being uncertain about getting hurt. Jungkook has a feeling he wouldn’t make it out in one piece if his heart fell into wrong hands. 

He does end up returning to his apartment that night. But the walk feels far too long and the air feels far too frigid, or perhaps is it because he can’t hear the tread of your footsteps beside him? 

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

The stars tell him it’s because he does not like the person he’s alone with. 

Back in room 62B, there is an abandoned painting on a rickety easel. He hadn’t even had the will to wash out his paintbrush, and he’s sure he’ll pay for it the next day. Looking at the piece now, his professor would tell him that there’s too many colors. Too much contrast and nearly not enough depth in his strokes. But what was he to do when he had kicked out his new model and couldn’t get the image of your visible heartbreak out of his brain? 

A familiar wrist with a quaint crescent moon sits on the canvas, and he sure as hell didn’t use Mina as the inspiration. Jungkook reminds himself to throw out the painting tomorrow morning. 

◓

The grease on Jimin’s skillet pan is always so hard to clean. The dish soap never truly cuts through the oil, and no matter how much you rinse it over with scalding water, it still feels soiled. On a normal day, it wouldn’t frustrate you so much. Today, a month-and-a-half after your soulmate made it clear to you that you had no place in his life, you want to throw the pan out the window and cry on the kitchen floor until it collapses with the weight of your tears. 

You settle for throwing down the sponge and making Jimin wash his own dishes.

The phone-that you usually now tend to ignore-buzzes on the counter, and you groan at your complete lack of desire to answer it. But the screen lights up with your roommate’s name and you hit the green button. 

“Y/N! How are you feeling, lovebug?” Jimin’s cheerful tone on speakerphone makes you want to cry. You can only imagine how terrible it is for him to be your roommate when all you know how to do now is mope and cry about a boy who probably hasn’t thought about you since. But he’s been holding you through all your breakdowns, and even sets up the air mattress on the floor of your bedroom when some nights are a little bit harder than most. 

“I’ve had better days”, you glare at the pan in the sink. “What’s up?’

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.” 

He sighs over the phone understandingly, but still not satisfied. “I know it’s only been a month Y/N, but it doesn’t have to be anything. He’s not looking for anything serious either. But maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off things.” 

It’s been a month. Four weeks. Roughly 31 days, and you still remember every word he said to you in the hallway of the art building. Every pause and quiver of his breath, and the way he looked so completely indifferent to your pain. Was one month enough for you to let go even after finding out Jungkook never planned to hold on in the first place?

“Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’m sorry for pushing you if you’re not ready.” His mumbling is apologetic and it makes you realize that Jimin genuinely means well. Maybe you weren’t ready to move on from Jungkook yet. Maybe you never will be. He was your damn soulmate, after all. But maybe a distraction couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.” 

You can practically feel him smiling like an idiot over the phone. “Really?!” You sigh into the speaker and Jimin knows better to continue talking before you change your mind.

“His name is Namjoon, he works with me at the office. Super cute. Super hot. Super smart. Checks all your boxes!”, he rambles on about the nitty gritty details and though a part you is proud that you’re making the decision to move on with life, you can’t help but to realize that no one will ever be able to “check all your boxes”.

Not if they’re not Jungkook. 

“He sounds great, Jimin.” Anyone can tell your happiness is disingenuous, even through the phone. Jimin tells you that he had already planned a date (without your knowledge), and sends you on your way with a quick goodbye when his taxi arrives. The silence of the apartment after the conversation leaves you feeling even more weighted, but hopeful for the possibility of a distraction. You had a feeling you won’t be able to forget the likes of Jeon Jungkook if you tried. But, if only for a night, you were to forget the pain of loving him, you’ll take that chance. 

◑

“What do you mean they all ‘feel the same’?” Jungkook is exasperated. He had drafted a complete version of his portfolio, working through the nights by the sweat of his brow. Now his professor was telling him that all his pieces felt the same and Jungkook thinks he might commit arson to the art studio.

Professor Sejin sighs contemplatively, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the table, all too familiar with Jungkook’s periodic art tantrums. 

“I mean that your pieces lack any variegation. The portfolio is well done and coherent, but the completed package is one-noted. It’s consistent. But too much so.”

Professor Sejin’s words make him fall back into the chair dejectedly, shoulders slumped and disappointment in his eyes at the critique of his art. Though it is hard to hear, Jungkook always welcomes productive criticism. The older man sympathizes with his downcast eyes and the visible stress on his back. 

“Look, Jungkook”, he affirms sincerely, “you just need to find some dynamic. Something to make people know that you can do more than one tone of art.” It’s obvious that the professor has a soft spot for the boy in front of him, who looks like his entire world is collapsing. The portfolio folder is handed back to him and Jungkook has the urge to burn it and not hear the word “gallery” again in the next decade. 

“I have faith in you. You’ll figure out what it is that you’re missing.” The smile on the man’s face is congenial. Genuine. And even though he has an ambitious amount of work to do, Jungkook finds the will to nod, haul himself off the office chair, and begin the trek back to his studio. 

The pinnacle of spring is approaching and the sun shines brighter with each morning. Not that he would know or care. He’s spent the last month locking himself inside, dedicating every fluid ounce of energy towards completing his project. It’s been surprisingly easier, and Jungkook finds himself finishing paintings, sketches, and sculptures with ease. Like untapped inspiration had revealed itself to him suddenly. Yet it still wasn’t enough...at least not according to Professor Sejin. 

Headphones drown out the cacophony of hustlers and bustlers with the laughter of children as accompaniment. He doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the music of the city. Not anymore. It gives him too much space to think, and Jungkook has a feeling that’s not good for anyone and definitely not good for him. 

The sight of a familiar bakery with particularly delicious apple strudels is enough to stop him in his rush, feet winding down until he is standing outside, staring at the door and wondering if he could go in without being reminded of you. Well, it might be too late for that anyhow, but further signs of protest are halted when he hears his growling stomach. 

Jungkook had morbidly underestimated your presence in the memory of his favorite cafe. You are everywhere. He sees your smiling face when he looks up at the chalkboard menu, soul vying for you to be next to him and excitedly choosing a new fru-fru drink that would undoubtedly have excessive sugar. He hears your giggles ruminating through the cafe while the other patrons only hear the music over loudspeaker. He practically feels you near, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s better this way. No one gets hurt this way. 

Jungkook plops himself at a corner table and buries his face in his hands, fingertips soothing over his pulsing eyebags and wrinkles he’s gotten from sleep deprivation. He desperately needs an espresso shot. Or five. 

“Hey…”, a voice makes him snap his head up. Jungkook recognizes the stranger as the owner’s son, who always stands guard at the cash register. The tag on his lapel reads Kim Seokjin, and Jungkook has a distant memory of you gushing over how nice Seokjin’s hair was. He had acted unbothered back then, but Jungkook would die before telling a soul that he was annoyed and jealous when you thought the cashier was cute. 

“Jungkook, right?”. He has a kind smile and a natural air of invitation. Jungkook nods. 

“I’ve seen you around a lot. Where’s that girl you always come here with?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, he nearly hisses, antsy at the mere mention of you. He instantly regrets it though. Seokjin looks like he’s been cornered with a blunt weapon, and it makes Jungkook sigh at his own asshole-ishness. 

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “just not a good day. At all.” 

There is a pause and hesitation before the boy speaks. “Do you...wanna talk about it?” Seokjin’s question is met with silence. 

There is a predictability about Jeon Jungkook. He doesn’t open himself up to anyone. He pretends that he doesn’t have problems so well, people start to become convinced. He avoids new connections like it’s the plague. But there is something so idiosyncratic about Kim Seokjin that makes him want to talk. Makes him want to trust a complete stranger. 

So Jungkook nods, depositing his black backpack besides him and lets himself breathe deep. 

“Her name is Y/N….”

In the lukewarm air of the café, Jungkook tells Seokjin about you. About the tiny crescent moon on your wrist that identically matches his - even unwraps his cloth to show it - and how he pushed you away hard enough to put an ocean’s worth of distance between the two of you. He tells Seokjin about Yoojung and the stars on her skin that have been plaguing him since the day she left. He tells him about that damn portfolio that refuses to be finished; one that he apparently has to start over because Professor goddamn Sejin says it's too boring. He allows himself to unload, and wow is it easier to breathe when you talk about your feelings. Jungkook reminds himself to do that more often. 

The “conversation” seems to stretch for hours (if a conversation can be considered one person unleashing all their hidden baggage on the other while they sit in silence). Jin listens intently through the entire ordeal, offering occasional nods and encouragement for him to continue. When Jungkook finally finishes with a deep breath, falling back on the chair looking completely worn out, Jin fixes him with a hot tea before speaking.

“The portfolio is important to you, Jungkook. If it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Something tells me that you’re not one to give up so easily”, he quips with a playful lilt in his voice. Jin’s genuine faith in him makes Jungkook believe in himself.

“And as for Yoojung, well, I can’t speak on your pain. You are the only one that narrates your experiences but as much as she seems like a villain in your story, perhaps she has opened a door.” Jungkook thinks his voice sounds far too wise to be coming from a guy in his 20’s.

“Would you have known how to nurse a broken heart had it not been for her? I’m sorry she did that to you, Jungkook, but..Yoojung is your past. And I see so much in your future.” 

Jungkook only stares into the abyss of his tea cup. The reflection that stares back is someone he desperately wants to learn to love. When he looks up again, there is a sad glimmer in Seokjin’s gaze. Something so despondent that he feels second-hand pain. 

Jin pulls up the sleeve of his knit sweater. On his wrist sits a faded marigold, so blanched it almost blends in with his skin and makes him wonder if it will just disappear one day. Jungkook feels his blood run cold.

“It’s been two years since she died”, he stares solemnly at his skin, “I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her.” 

Jungkook’s thought about his soulmate mark disappearing before. Even hoped and prayed for it the days after Yoojung left. But now, when he sees it up close on Seokjin’s wrist, Jungkook doesn’t want to wish that loneliness upon anyone. 

“She was so damn...persistent”, Jin laughs, fondness dripping in every word. “Like your Y/N in that way, I suppose. She had a goal and was hell-bent on achieving it. She was so kind and strong and much more of a badass than I could ever be. I loved that about her.” There is sorrow in his voice when he uses the past tense, and Jungkook feels even worse for pouring his heart out about his very alive soulmate. 

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know? Ironic that even the best doctors couldn’t have saved her in the end.” His sentence trails off and he loses focus gazing out the window, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand with a faraway look in his eyes. 

“I don’t mean to ramble about my dead soulmate for no reason, Jungkook. And I’m in no position to tell you what you should or should not do regarding Y/N. But if I could restart this life with my soulmate, there wouldn’t be one second I would waste not at her side.” Jin’s tone is not accusatory or convicting. Just honest.

“It’s normal to be scared and apprehensive. Hell, I would be more concerned if you weren’t going into it with a shit ton of skepticism. I was terrified. Yet out of the billions of people that could’ve had my mark on their wrist, just knowing that she was that one was enough for me to love her.”

The cup of tea has long gone cold. Jungkook only manages to stare at the mahogany table, thoughts too heavy to voice aloud, so Jin continues. 

“I think I would give anything to know that such a person still exists for me. Someone out there that was chosen by an unknown, cosmic force for an unexplainable reason just for me. To see a mark that matches my own. Well…”, Jin breathes deeply, tears welling in his eyes but not falling, “I think that must be the most wonderful thing in the entire world.”

◒

Seokjin’s words stick with him long after he has departed from the café. Long after the tea has settled in his stomach along with the weight of what a soulmate means to this stranger whose life story he has learned in the course of an evening. 

Even so, Jungkook’s not sure what he should feel. The fear of vulnerability still feels like a designated thundercloud above his head, and the thought of letting you past his walls makes Jungkook want to run the other way.

At the same time, the trepidation doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. It’s still there, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what happened but when he sees your smiling face behind his eyelids, Jungkook doesn’t feel scared. When he focuses on what you look like under sunlight, or your eyes staring at him through a camera lens, there is no fear of the broken heart you could leave him with. Just something warm. Something that feels an awful lot like...love?

 But what does Jungkook know about such things? 

He shrugs it off his shoulders, and readies himself for a night of inevitably restless sleep. He blames it on the impending due date of his beloved portfolio, but really, it is you. You and your insistence on trying every single coffee shop in the city. You and your convoluted idea of a date; letting your partner choose the location with their eyes closed. You and…

Just everything about you. 

He falls asleep well into 4am. The thin strap of cloth sits on his bedside table. Even if it is only for the night sky to see, Jungkook lets his soulmate mark breathe. 

◐

It’s been so long since you’ve dressed up or cleaned up to go out anywhere, the reflection that stares back feels like a stranger. You’ve opted for a bold red lip, meticulously applying your makeup so that even the wing of your eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Jimin forced you to curl your hair too, of course. The girl in the mirror looks beautiful. You know that she is beautiful.

So why is it that you can only see the face that is not enough for Jeon Jungkook? A person that he is unable to love. No, not even foundation can cover the face of longing.

“Y/N”, Jimin sing-songs, “hurry! You don’t wanna be late do you?” No, you don’t want to be late. You want to not go. Maybe retreat to your bedroom and cry the night away again. But you won’t tell him that when he is so clearly ecstatic that you’re spending a night out for the first time in months. 

The restaurant looks like it is entirely out of your budget. Well, you reckon any restaurant is out of your budget with all the debt that looms overhead and your painfully apparent unemployment. Waiting for Namjoon is less than exhilarating, and you spend the time fiddling with your bracelet that conveniently covers the crescent moon. These days, you can’t bear to look at it anymore. Your eyes are glued to the little mark, before a voice sounds from across the table.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was insane. You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” You weren’t sure what you expected Kim Namjoon to look like but were pleasantly surprised. Namjoon looks like he takes care of himself, neat and clean and sporting a very shiny watch that looks like 4 months’ worth of rent. 

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.” 

When he pulls out the chair to sit down, you can’t help but to notice the cloud on his wrist. It was smaller than yours but you had no doubt it felt just as heavy. If Namjoon felt your gaze on his skin, he did nothing to show it. 

“Hey, I know I just got here but…”, he sighs and takes a look around the room, “do you wanna get out of here? Find the cheapest and greasiest food we can?” His request makes you smile, and you grab the purse that rested on the table. 

“Namjoon, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.” 

You and Namjoon manage to find a diner that wasn’t far from the fancy restaurant, and you thank the skies that you didn’t have to pay $50 for a salad tonight. Just some pocket change for quite possibly the best and oiliest hamburger you’ve ever had. 

By conversation that happens through mouthfuls of food and faces smeared with milkshake residue, you come to learn that Namjoon is an unsurprisingly nice guy. He studies poetry, but is working as a secretary at an office, hence his connection to Jimin. He loves to garden and talks about his bonsai plants to you like they’re his kids, even pulling up pictures on his phone and gazing down at them fondly. It makes you smile. He plays the piano, and likes to take long bike rides when the weather permits. 

It’s nice to have someone reciprocate your effort. It’s something you haven’t experienced in a long time, all credit to one Jeon Jungkook. Namjoon is warm in all the corners where Jungkook is cold. 

In a word, he is pretty damn perfect. And if he had a crescent moon on his wrist, you probably wouldn’t bat an eye or have a lick of doubt in the universe. He encompasses everything you want, so alike you in so many aspects it makes you wary. If Namjoon had your matching soulmate mark, you would already be in love with him. 

But he doesn’t. And that thought alone keeps you from feeling anything but platonicity. He is not Jungkook. You don’t think anyone can make you feel the way Jungkook does. You want to curse the stars for making this so. 

It’s well into the night, and you both remain planted in the diner booth, chatting and chuckling over a plate of french fries. It’s when you drift off while he’s talking about his latest attempt at focaccia that Namjoon sighs and sits back in the seat. 

“What?”, you confusedly ask after he suddenly stops speaking.

He smiles. Stays silent for a couple seconds. Then speaks. 

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

His question catches you off guard and you can only stare at him, frown on your face and words lost on your tongue. 

“You’ve been staring into space every 5 minutes this whole night, and fidgeting with your bracelet so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off”, he explains, tenderness and sympathy in his tone. 

“Every time I speak, you have this sad look in your eyes and I have a feeling you’re imagining someone else’s face, Y/N. I’ve enjoyed talking to you...a lot. But I can tell you want to be somewhere else so”, Namjoon places his elbows on the table and gazes at you endearingly, “tell me about your soulmate.” 

You stare at Namjoon through shocked eyes, glistening with the onset of tears that you manage to keep from escaping. Gosh, you were pathetic. Already wanting to cry at the mere mention of him. Or maybe the fact that someone could see through your facade. You take a deep breath. 

“His name is Jeon Jungkook.” Your voice quivers, and Namjoon continues listening intently. You are reluctant to continue because you know that once this conversation begins, there is a chance you might have to confront yourself again with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t want love. You internally apologize to Namjoon in advance, for you might cry on this first date. 

“I…I’m completely head over heels in love with him  but after everything, I’m not sure I have the slightest clue what love is. Because what sane person can fall in love with a person who has made it clear that that love wouldn’t be reciprocated from the get go?”

You fiddle with the plastic straw in your milkshake, searching for the courage to go on and tell him about every thought that you have denied yourself the satisfaction of verbalizing. 

“He loves apple strudels, you know. Eats them every time like they’re the last apple strudels he’ll ever have and he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching”, you chuckle, gaze drifting off to space. There is a fondness in your eyes as you speak, and Namjoon does not miss it. 

“He’s as punctual as the day is long. One time I was late to a photoshoot and he almost made me cry lecturing me about the importance of being on time. But now I’m never late.” 

The memory makes you, as well as Namjoon, smile. 

“He paints like his life depends on it, and he’ll get oil paint on his face without noticing and sometimes I just want to reach out and wipe it off. But I think he’d murder me on the spot.”

“How come?”, Namjoon offers his first words in the midst of your monologue. You’re not sure what to say next. 

“Well...I think Jeon Jungkook might be the coldest person I’ve ever met”, you dejectedly sigh. Reality tastes bitter even with remnants of whipped cream on your lips. 

“Every time I was around him, it felt like I was willingly breaking my own heart just for the chance to know that he was next to me. That in this entire world of billions of people, the one with the same moon on their wrist was next to me. And...I guess I didn’t really need him to love me yet”, your gaze locks onto Namjoon and you find he is already staring at you with utmost curiosity and subtle pity. 

“Jungkook alone was enough. I just wish he could have felt the same about me.” 

Perhaps the reason why the truth is so painful to speak is because people have a tendency to run from it. Then when it catches up to you, it’s a harsh trip and fall to the rocky ground. There is no cushion when you land. 

Namjoon doesn’t offer advice. Doesn’t dish his own experiences to relate to your own or even make any comments from his perspective. He just sits and listens in silence, but it doesn’t feel like he is disregarding you. No, his eyes tell you that he soaks in every word. You hope you’ll get the chance to do the same for him...if he ever decides to share his story with you. 

The two of you leave the diner with a prospective to be friends, and no plans of a future second date. You had a strong feeling that spending the entire evening talking about your unrequited soulmate love had something to do with that. Nevertheless, though Namjoon didn’t work out as a distraction, you were glad to have met him. It made you realize something.

Even if Jimin thought you were ready to move on. Even if you thought you were ready to forget. It might be a lifetime before you finally let go of that boy.

◓

The morning reeks of rain and dew, humidity nearly clawing its way through his window and turning his apartment into a swamp. When he wakes up, it is not to his blaring alarm clock, but the uncomfortable sensation of a sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Jungkook groans, already tired of this day. It seems hopeless from the beginning. 

As much as he wanted to stay home and crank up the air conditioner so much that his landlord would come running, Professor Sejin’s voice reverberates through his eardrums.

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook. 

Of course, these are not Professor Sejin’s verbatim, more so Jungkook’s own mind that twists his teacher’s constructive criticism into something else. He is a master at feeding his insecurity.

Jungkook chugs down a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and his stomach growls for something with a little more sugar and maybe a dash of rainbow colored sprinkles. He guesses he has you to thank for that. The art studio is always a daily destination, and this day is no different. Jungkook has a plan to dedicate himself to fixing his portfolio and maybe finish that clay piece he never got around to. 

The studio is too cold for his liking; Jungkook can’t remember how many times he has begged the superintendent to lower the AC. The cold he can deal with. The loneliness, however, is a different story. Jungkook is always alone. Alone when he’s in his apartment. Alone when he’s in class. Alone when he’s in the art room. These days, aloneness feels more haunting when he knows he had the option to escape it, but chose to stay. A part of him is ready to admit that it’s because of you. 

Jungkook hums a random melody that had been stuck in his head since the morning, fingers gliding over the slick sculpting clay. The days are easier now. He doesn’t think about you so much when the sun is out and there is the bustling of the busy city to distract him. The nights, however, are just as difficult as they have been. Jungkook’s last drifting thought is of you, and your face torturously carries over to each dream. Like his entire being misses you but he refuses to accept it. 

He takes a deep sigh in relief once the sculpture feels finished. Professor Sejin wanted something more dynamic, so there: his very own realist clay piece drawing inspiration from Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. He sits back in pride, admiring his own handiwork and giving himself a mental pat on the back. It looks great. Perfect even. It looks….

It looks like you. 

Jungkook pales at the realization as the clay face stares back at him. No, this was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, inspired by the ancient Greek artist that sculpted her. Then why does she have your nose? Those eyes are definitely your’s and even those cheeks are identical. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that in the rhythm of his art, he got lost and accidentally sculpted your face instead. 

He walks away from the clay table and hurriedly yanks off the soiled apron around his waist, confusion swimming in every cell of his body. How had he just...made a sculpture of you? With no knowledge that he was doing it?

Jungkook leans with his back against the sink, staring down at the floor with furrowed brows and a thundering heart. With a sudden epiphany, Jungkook leaps from his position and pulls out all the canvases, printed photographs, graphite drawings, and clay pieces he’s made for the past few months. Everything he can grab in the small studio space. 

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

 Everything feels the same. His whole portfolio has one note and no dynamic or diversity because...well, because all of his pieces are of you. Not you, necessarily, but your breath has come alive on his art in some way, shape, or form. 

The multimedia painting he made two weeks ago using polystyrene sheets was supposed to mimic sunlight through a stained glass window, but Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he'd drawn the window of the café you dragged him to on its opening day. And the colors of the glass is just the twinkle of your eyes when they stare back into his. 

The photoset he spent hours taking around the city, after taking a 15 minute train ride, were just repeats of all the places you two went to that one day. The book store. The park. The streetlight where Yoojung stopped him. He hadn’t even realized he only saved the photos associated with a subconscious memory of you. 

Jungkook can’t explain it, but he feels you in every single picture. Every piece of art that his hands have manifested since you walked into his life, stupid smile on your face and that little moon on your wrist. He feels it...and call it artist’s intuition or something but perhaps that’s why Professor Sejin could feel it too. 

Even though he stopped making you his muse months ago, you are still the root of inspiration for whatever he’s produced since. And if that’s not enough to finally tell him what he needs to hear. Finally make him realize that he’s fallen in love with you without even knowing it, the universe doesn’t know what will. 

The minutes it has been since he realized your place in his life melts like slow dripping honey, feeling like an eternity when it is mere moments. Jungkook regains his focus in the haze. He knows what you mean to him now, but there was something he had to fo first. 

He swipes all his paintbrushes and palette knives to the side, sweat on his brow as he furiously rearranges his portfolio. He takes out the pictures of Mina - no one would miss them anyway - and trashes all the photos he took before he met you. He only uses the art he’s created post-Y/N and tucks them in the manila folder so rapidly, there’s paper cuts on his fingers. But he doesn’t feel them. Jungkook has only one objective. 

He snaps a picture of the new clay sculpture he’s just finished. The photo goes into the portfolio with the name ‘Aphrodite’, but Jungkook knows better about whose face that truly belongs to. Not that anyone would bat an eye. He thinks you are as beautiful as the goddess herself. 

The trip to Professor Sejin’s office is short, unsurprising though, since Jungkook sprints the whole way there. When he arrives, and the professor can only stare as he’s bent over and huffing violently trying to catch his breath, Jungkook reminds himself to spend less time at the studio and more time on the cardio. 

He throws the portfolio onto the man’s desk unceremoniously, nearly collapsing on the chair across from him and not ready to speak yet. Professor Sejin confusedly rifles through the folder quickly, too quickly, and sighs, ready to offer Jungkook yet the same critique again. 

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off. 

“Before you say anything…”, he gulps, finally ready to admit the truth to himself. 

“I want you to know that I’ve met my soulmate, a-and there’s a reason why you feel that my portfolio is all the same. There’s a reason why you feel it’s all one-noted or that there’s no progression.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and you are there behind his lids. 

“It’s because she sowed the seeds for all of them. Everything. Those paintings and photos and sculptures are just symptoms of what I’ve been feeling this whole time after meeting her. She’s practically the artist, not me.” Professor Sejin stays silent at his monologue, gaze unreadable but eyes sharp and trained solely on Jungkook. 

“Maybe...Maybe art doesn’t need to be super variegated all the time. Maybe it’s supposed to be a cohesive unit and the pieces should string to each other. Maybe paintings should have a relationship to photos and them, to sculptures. Maybe you’re just...wrong.” 

He is exasperated and passion flows out of him through every pore. Jungkook looks expectantly at his professor, who has the open folder in his hand and still in the process of taking in his words. When the adrenaline starts to fade, he realizes that he just dissed his venerable teacher. 

“With all due respect…”, he coughs, “sir.” 

Professor Sejin lets Jungkook spend the next couple minutes in complete torturous silence so that he can finish reviewing his portfolio. The tension is cut with the sound of the man’s hands slapping together as he closes the folder. Jungkook prepares himself for a stern lecture.

However, when he looks up, there is a smile on the man’s face. There’s no malice there, or even disdain. He pulls off his glasses, sets them on the table, and sits back in the office chair, arms folded over his chest. Jungkook can feel his heart threatening to pound past his rib cage. 

“Jungkook…”, Professor Sejin declares, “I think you’ve got a contender for the gallery spot.” 

◑

If someone had asked you what Jeon Jungkook meant to you, you would look them in the eye and tell them that he meant nothing. Because it’s easier to pretend that someone does not mean anything to you after they pretend that you do not exist. That the universe had not given you both matching marks and deemed that your souls were meant for each other. Jeon Jungkook is a stranger to you. One that you wanted so badly to love. But you’ve come to learn that no matter how hard you try; you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to love at all.

So the days trickle by as they usually do. Painstakingly slow and viscous with memories of a boy named Jeon Jungkook and the way he has hurt you enough to last a little bit over forever. 

“I understand why you don’t want to go, Y/N. But aren’t you the least bit curious? Especially after that fancy invitation in the mail?” Jimin’s query is innocent. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your blood boil. 

“I don’t know...the thought of going to my soulmate’s grand art gallery when the last time we spoke, he told me he can’t love me, just doesn’t seem appealing Jimin”, you snark, burying your face into the bowl of cereal you are now spooning far too aggressively. 

“But...it’s been months. And he wouldn’t have sent you an invitation if he didn’t want you to come.” 

This conversation has happened too frequently since that red envelope arrived at your apartment. You cried your eyes out when you opened it, both out of pride for Jungkook and the fact that no matter what you did, the universe found a way to keep you from moving on. 

A sigh heaves through your chest, and the cereal is abandoned by your loss of appetite. “I’m not going to show up there and have him tell me again all of the reasons he can’t be with me. I barely survived it last time.” 

“But what if, Y/N?”

There is a glimmer in Jimin’s eye and he radiates so much hopefulness for you, you can’t help but to feel it too. 

“Isn’t the what if already enough? You used to tell me that Jungkook was worth anything. Isn’t he worth the risk this time too?”

You don’t have anything else to say after that because as much as you hate to admit, perhaps Jimin is right. Jungkook is worth going through anything for, even if he wants to stay as far away as possible. Call it a fluke in the postal system that the invitation to his gallery landed on your doorstep, but can you allow yourself to read between the lines and dare say that he sent it himself? Can you put yourself through such a perilous thing like optimism?

Jungkook has left you battered and broken for the past months. But you would give your heart to him to break all over again if he asked. 

◒

To say that you did not fit in with those dawdling around the art gallery was a gross understatement. You didn’t just not fit in. Your entire presence and aura defied every expectation, and suddenly, watching the upper echelon of the city mingle with champagne and gaze critically at Jungkook’s art, makes every breath feel like an insecurity. 

The boy in question was nowhere in sight, and you now regret not dragging Jimin with you. The invitation had specifically prohibited plus one’s, and though Jimin whined to no end about his hurt feelings and emptily promised never to talk to Jungkook again, you managed to keep him home. Now, you wish you were back at the apartment with him.

The pieces were, in short, completely breathtaking (to no surprise, of course, this was Jungkook you were talking about). Though you knew he always held doubt in himself, in the short time he allowed you to be in his life, you had never once thought he was anything less than spectacular. Yet you could not allow yourself to completely enjoy them. Each brushstroke and paint color you remember from his palettes, or the filters on the photos that you helped him with, was agonizing to look at. 

You are standing in front of a canvas titled “Windowlight” when a man comes up beside you. He nurses a flute of bubbly champagne and makes no move to gain eye contact. Unknown to you, Professor Sejin knows exactly who you are. He’s seen your face in his student’s portfolio one too many times. 

“Artful use of mixed media, isn’t it?”, he mutters.

“I suppose so.” 

“He’s quite the prodigy. Have you met him yet? I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” The man takes a sip from his glass, smirk on his lips hidden from your eyes that still blankly stare ahead.

“Yes. He’s a...friend.” We share a soulmate mark. He hates my guts. 

He hums a sound of affirmation and you ignore the weird feeling it leaves in your stomach; one that tells you this stranger sees right through you. 

“Ah, how rude of me. Professor Sejin. Arts director and senior advisor.” He spares you a brief glance, but you make no move to shake his hand or pretend to be courteous. You don’t have the energy for it tonight. Just being in this building, surrounded by everything Jungkook has touched, makes you want to collapse into yourself. 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He speaks nonchalantly, and you almost miss the fact that you never told him your name. Your brows crease in confusion and you are ready to turn and interrogate the stranger, but he is already walking away, gliding smoothly across the gallery. Before he gets too far, though, Sejin cranes his neck and makes eye contact. 

“Oh, and be sure to visit the one called ‘Moon’. It’s upstairs, next to the Aphrodite sculpture on the second level exhibit”, he entreats, a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Something tells me you’ll appreciate its…sincerity.”

Honestly, you’re not sure what you expected when you came to Jungkook’s art gallery tonight. But to be approached by a stranger who already knows your name, who dubiously instructs you to seek out a mystery art piece, was not on the list of expectations. Still...Professor Sejin’s words made you curious. 

Through the night, your eyes subconsciously seek out that familiar head of fluffy brown hair and a tall gait that always seems to stick out, even in a large crowd. It was as if Jungkook versed himself in complete camouflage, so much so that you began to doubt that he was even in the building.  

The traipse through the gallery is done in silence and solitude, and you tune out the sounds of popping champagne and raucous laughter coming from the second floor, as the patrons undoubtedly banter over which piece to auction off. You hope he keeps them. You’ve never seen someone appreciate art the way that Jungkook does. 

You catch sight of a few pieces that you recognize, ones that you remember him showing you when he had finished. You always excitedly told him every single one was a masterpiece, and Jungkook only rolled his eyes and made minimal effort at hiding the blush on his cheeks. Your steps falter when you come across a set of photographs in black and white, set in consecutive frames next to each other and it feels so warm despite the lack of color. Jungkook just had that special talent when it came to photography. 

It’s the bookstore. In the city during the impromptu train ride you had coerced him to take. Your heart catches in your throat as you recognize all the other ones immediately because well...you’ve been to all those spots. A familiar pressure builds in the back of your eyes, and you swallow down a whimper of pain. 

The urge to leave becomes too strong. But not strong enough to quell the slow burn of curiosity from Professor Sejin. There is a chance that you might not run into Jungkook at all tonight with the vast space and people bumbling through the corridors. It hurts to think that you might never see him again at all, but you’ll allow yourself another indulgence. Something is calling you. 

Moon. He titled it Moon? You grip onto your wrist reflexively and run your thumb over the mark, like you did when you were younger and still had hope for soulmates. The pulsepoint there beats under your finger and lets you know how alive you are. Compels you to give into your curiosity, even if it might decimate your already crumbling heart. The stairs that lead up to the second floor are short, but the trek feels like it knocks the wind out of you, or perhaps that was just the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side.

You were right to be scared. Because right in the smack dab center of the circular room is where you see it, and your gasp is one that can be heard from each wall and corner. 

A painting of you. A portrait from the waist up, with oil paint and so much detail, Jungkook has even managed to line the shallow wrinkles by your eyes when you smile. You have never considered yourself beautiful in any sense but the way he has captured you on canvas starts to make you believe that you truly are. You feel Jungkook in each streak of the brushstroke where he hadn’t spread the color evenly. It is as if the painting is alive, and though you are staring at yourself, it doesn’t feel like the way it does in the mirror. Doesn’t feel like a reflection. 

No, this feels like looking through Jungkook’s eyes. It is what he sees in you, rather than what you see in yourself. And what he sees is beautiful. Through the haze of shock and confusion as to why he chose this as the centerpiece, you don’t notice the warm presence that lurks behind you. The one that has watched your every move since you walked into this building. 

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.” 

You whip your head around so quick it nearly gives you whiplash, but the sight of him is the nail in the coffin. Jungkook is cleaned up in a black suit, and an unfamiliar smile on his lips he rarely lets you see. A genuine one that he’s tried to hide so many times but now that it’s clear and up close, you resent him for keeping it from you. 

Jungkook is just as gorgeous as the day you lost him. 

But looking at him hurts. You don’t know why you’re even here, and why he sent the invitation, or why he was standing in front of you now and there is not a sliver of antipathy in his eyes. You don’t know why your face is plastered in the center of the gallery. Most of all, you don’t know why you are still weak in the knees for Jeon Jungkook. 

“Although, I have to say, it was a close race between this one and the pictures I made you take at the lake, when you nearly dunked me in the river because it was so cold”, he breathily laughs but you aren’t able to get through the shock just yet. If Jungkook notices your starstruck state, he doesn’t let it affect him. 

“And I definitely have to give some credit to the one I painted after you told me about your dream”, Jungkook prattles on, “where you were a mermaid who planted peaches under the sea, remember? That’s an honorable mention.” 

These memories make you want to smile but in this moment, the best you can do is try to hold yourself together when your eyes begin to warm with tears. Jungkook stays silent when you do. He notices you haven’t said a word and your gaze refuses to meet his. 

“Why are you doing this, Jungkook?”, you curse yourself when your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jungkook’s smile drops off his face, and for once, you can see your own pain reflected in his eyes. 

He takes a deep breath, hands hanging limply at his side that itch to wrap themselves around yours. To feel your skin. Feel your mark. 

“I…”, he hesitates in his words, “I remember that day every night when I go to sleep, Y/N. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see your face when I told you I can’t love you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such aching before. Not even when she left me.” Jungkook’s voice is tinted with desperation but it just makes your walls rise higher. 

He’s lying to you. Your tongue wants to protest, but he continues. 

“I see you in everything”, Jungkook breathes out, like he is also admitting it to himself. 

“The paintbrushes I can never put down to the black coffee I force myself to drink nowadays because the ones I actually like, the ones with too much whipped cream and vanilla syrup, just reminds me of you.” His brows are knitted, and his feet vie to step closer to your quivering form. But you look like a caged animal about to bolt at any moment. 

“And when I’m reminded of you, I am reminded of…”, he gulps down the fear, “I’m reminded of how I am utterly in love with someone who deserves so much more than what I have put them through.”

The blood that runs through your veins drops to subzero temperatures, and you swear in the split millisecond that you have absorbed what he’s just said, your heart ceases its beating. The world stops turning, and the waves still for a brief moment. You can’t find any words just yet, but Jungkook can see straight through you and your stupefied expression. 

“Y-you’re lying to me, Jungkook. Stop lying.” 

“I’m not lying, please…” Jungkook knows he’s losing you by the second, but he’s promised you he would persist. He just wants you to listen. Wants you to feel how sorry he is, and how his soul screams to be next to your’s. 

“I can’t explain how it happened. Like it was an epiphany. Like someone has been screaming at me and I had been ignoring them, and that someone was my own heart.” Jungkook doesn’t stumble over his words once. He does not stutter because it is the plain white truth. 

“Stop, Jungkook.”

“It’s been knocking on the door of my chest and when I finally let it in, it just yells and shouts ‘oh my god, you’re in love’ and then I realized oh my god, i’m in love. In between painting you and convincing myself that soulmates meant nothing to me, I’ve completely and unquestionably fallen in love with you, Y/N.” 

Jungkook can’t decipher the look on your face. Something between the lines of disbelief and heartbreak, and it makes him want to split at the seams at the pain he’s put you through. How he’s convinced you you’re impossible to love. He vows to make it right again.

“Jungkook-”

“And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not hard to love. Hell, I was dead set on never loving again and you managed to make me so smitten, I can’t paint or draw a damn thing without including some aspect of you in it.” Jungkook steps back and gestures to all the canvases and photos that hang on the wall. 

“Take a look around, Y/N. It’s all you. Every piece.” Once he says it, you finally notice Every piece of art in this room can be traced to you, or a memory you two share. It’s so clear, you don’t know how you missed it before. You feel yourself in the art Jungkook has poured his soul into. Instead of making you feel elated, these words that you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear just ignites the sting. 

“Just stop. Please.” It is only a weak whisper through your lips, and he ignores it. 

“If you can’t forgive me, I get it Y/N. I can’t forgive myself either. But can you just know that you are enough. You are more than what I deserve. And I know you told me to be happy, but there is no way I can possibly do that without you.” 

When your gaze falls to the floor, you notice that his wrist is clean of any bracelets or watches. Come to think of it, this is one of the first times you are seeing it clear and in the flesh. Jungkook doesn’t tell you, but nowadays, he doesn’t allow anything to impede on the sight of the crescent moon.

When your guard is down and you are distracted, he finds the perfect time to finally reach forward and take your hand in his. His touch is gentle when it wraps around your wrist, tugging off the ribbon that circled it, and revealing the matching mark. Your pulse jumps under his fingers, and skips a beat when he runs a thumb over the moon. You are already melting with such simple contact, and you almost allow yourself to succumb. Almost.

It’s as if suddenly his skin was scalding, and you snatch your wrist from his grasp at lightning speed. The tears that have strayed down your face are wiped away as quickly as they came. The surprise on his face is missed by your eyes because before he can comprehend what is happening, you are bolting down the staircase and out the glass doors of the gallery. No, you cannot forgive him yet. What would you do if he hurt you again? You don’t think you would survive. 

You ignore the pain of seeing his art pieces as you run, now that you know you are the muse behind them all. The only noise is the sound of blood rushing in your ears, and you are oblivious to the racket of Jungkook’s shoes clapping against marble flooring as he chases after you, expertly dodging the other patrons and butlers holding trays of champagne. 

And Jungkook? Well, he is oblivious to the complete turmoil that runs through your every nerve. He only sees your back, and not the way you bite your lip painfully to keep the sobs from escaping. Not the way your pain is exhibited clear as day in the crease of your eyebrow and the wrinkle of your nose. 

The air outside is so cold it bites at your nostrils, but makes it easier to breathe. The wind calms the thundering heart in your chest.

He must be lying. There was no way he had a change of heart now, not when he was so rooted in his belief before. There is no virtual possibility, on any plane of existence, on any dimension where Jeon Jungkook has fallen in love with you. 

Right?

The hand that circles around your wrist tightly to keep you from getting any farther tells you that you are wrong. He did come after you. Jungkook’s strength forces you to stop running, but you can’t find the courage to turn around and face him just yet. But you don’t make an effort to pull away, and he takes it as progress.

“You can run if you want, Y/N. You can walk away from me and from us, but don’t doubt that I’ll always be chasing after you. For as long as it takes.” He is panting and speaking through heavy breaths, but you hear him. Loud and clear. 

“I won’t let you leave again. Not like last time.”

There is no malice. No coldness, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his words feel like warm honey instead of monotone ice. He is utterly distraught when you turn around slowly, hesitant like you’re afraid he will break your heart right then and there. 

His heart shatters at the wetness at your waterline, and the way you look up at him; completely vulnerable and scared. 

“Do you promise?” 

There is a lot of weight in your three-word question. It’s not as innocent as meets the eye, and Jungkook knows it. He feels it. When you ask him if he promises, it is an invitation back to you. You are offering him your heart, which he has already broken and bruised, and trusting him to be careful with it this time around. Jungkook already knows he loves you. And if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure this promise remains unbroken. 

“I promise.” 

It’s a commitment. One he used to be terrified of making, but it seems so easy when it’s for you. 

And when you fly forward to wrap your arms around him, Jungkook feels like home. Like the stars twinkle a little brighter and the earth stops spinning for a mere second, just for the two of you. You feel him squeeze you closer, just as tightly, and Jungkook wants to kick himself for depriving you both of a simple thing called love. 

You are here, souls and now bodies intertwined, and Jungkook lets the pain of past hurt fall away. Pain is so miniscule when you are by his side. When you pull back, Jungkook frowns at your red-rimmed eyes, and the tears that still persist. He wipes it away oh so softly, as if you were delicate clay and he, a sculptor. 

“Please don’t cry anymore, princess, it breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” It is the softest, most sugary tone you’ve ever heard out of him. But hearing affection from his lips makes you feel that perhaps all of this sorrow, this longing, has been worth it. He has been worth it. He always has. 

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook’s words are almost as beautiful as he is. 

His lips are familiar when you lean forward and kiss him. Yet they are different. This time, the hands on your waist hold you a bit more carefully, even closer if that were possible. You can feel his thudding heart as it beats against your own, learning to match rhythms with each other, and Jungkook cradles your face in his hand like you are the only artwork he has truly been proud of. 

And it’s true. All the canvases and paints and camera film seem wasted now. Nothing he ever makes will be quite as alluring as the art he holds in his arms in this moment. 

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

You meant it all those months ago, and you mean it now. If Jeon Jungkook was the sun, you would gladly change your name to Icarus. If Jeon Jungkook was the moon, then you are the tides that he pushes and pulls. If Jeon Jungkook belonged to you, well...you don’t have to imagine that anymore. He is your’s, as you are his. 

Old habits die hard, but they are not immortal. They wax and wane, and remind you that in the cosmic vastness of things, you are only human. Humans whose hearts beat in tandem and souls made to complete the other. Humans with identical crescent moons, lost but now found.

Old habits die hard. But you have learned to fix those of a broken heart. 

☾

[jennagrinsoverml]

Do you have any Adrien-centric angst fics? Like, fics that will completely gut you emotionally and you have to lay down for an hour after you read it just to decompress?something like that?

I've recced angst fics before, but let's have some SADRIEN hours around here, shall we?

a fight that you were born to lose by @captainkirkk

When the prosecution starts throwing around the word victim in reference to Adrien, he has to stuff his hands under his thighs to keep himself from bolting out of the courtroom.

Adrien had felt unsafe during those last few weeks, but, until he had woken up and seen Father silhouetted in his bedroom doorway, that had only been paranoia. Father was controlling and cold, but he wasn’t hateful. Adrien was isolated. He was often hungry. And some weeks ago, when he had snuck out to visit Nino, sitting thigh-to-thigh on his bed while Adrien cried in that silent, crumbling way of his, he hadn’t argued when Nino put a hand on his shoulder and said, tentatively, That’s abuse.

But Adrien remembers being small and Father touching his hair after he’d aced another test; Father holding his scribbled drawings like they were something precious, and framing them around his office; Father, dressed as Hawkmoth, his eyes wild behind the mask, lashing his sword against Adrien’s baton; Father, collapsed against Mum, crying into her ashy hair.

Adrien finds out Gabriel is Hawkmoth, and Gabriel gets to bring his long-waited plan into action.

One-shot. (But a LONG one-shot--it's 18k.) This one really digs deep into the abuse that Adrien suffers at Gabriel's hands and the emotional fallout from that. Gabriel is really, really, really terrible here. Worse, I don't think it's OOC at all. This fic is gorgeous, but it's a hard read and it goes to some dark places.

Anhedonia/When Adrien Met Marinette... by @mikauzoran

Chat Noir hadn’t been lying when he told Ladybug he’d moved on. It was only when he found out that Ladybug was Marinette that he realized he was wrong. Meanwhile, Marinette thinks that she’s missed her chance when Adrien insists that he’s gotten over his feelings. Now, they’re roommates and making themselves miserable as they pine for one another, thinking the situation’s hopeless. Things finally come to a head, and they’re forced to sit down and have an honest conversation about their feelings.

One-shot. Adrien's just so sad and lonely and pining here, and I'm here for it. I really found myself getting swept away in his feelings as I was reading. This isn't dark and doesn't get into any heavy issues like some of the other fics on this list, but I found that it was very relatable and evoked a lot of emotion.

Adrien and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by @vickyvicarious

Chat Noir's used to bad luck - it kind of comes with the territory. But detransforming in the middle of a crowd of reporters is a little worse luck than he’s used to having.

And he hasn’t heard a thing from Ladybug since.

(AKA the "everyone finds out all at once" angst fic no one asked for.)

One-shot. Oof, does this one ever hurt. Adrien's painfully in-character, and the way he's trying so very hard to stay positive even as his life is completely falling apart and everyone keeps hurting him...it's so him and it packs a punch.

The Importance of the Black Cat by @chatonne-rousse

Plagg gets down almost two full wedges of cheese before Adrien sits down on the edge of his bed with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, Plagg?” His voice is quiet but doesn’t betray any emotion yet. That’s actually more worrying.

Steeling himself, Plagg swallows the last big bite of cheese and zips from the desk to perch on top of the globe, facing his holder. “What’s up?”

He heaves another sigh before looking up into Plagg’s eyes, emotions still unreadable.

“How important is the black cat?”

*****

Adrien has a lot on his mind - concerns, questions, doubts. And right now, he has only one being to confide in. There is not enough cheese in the world to make Plagg want to handle this situation, but his holder needs him, and he knows two things with certainty: his very important place in the world, and that no one hurts his kitten. Not if he has anything to say about it.

One-shot. You want some season 4 flavour Adrien angst? How about some post-Optigami wallowing? I love the portrayal of Adrien and Plagg's relationship with the mix of light and heavy. Pretty sure I still owe Rosie a sequel to this one because I wanted to see more resolution afterwards and made the mistake of sharing my thoughts on that 🙈 It's just very thought-provoking!!

Working Past It by Taitai83

Chat is deeply hurt by Ladybug's actions, and he needs to process those feelings. He finds that confiding in a friend is helpful in finding clarity.

One-shot. Here, have some more season 4 angst! This one is shamefully overlooked. Go read it and help fix that!! Remember when Gang of Secrets came out and we all wondered how Chat would react when he found out Ladybug told someone her identity? This was an early stab at that, and I found the reactions and thought processes here to be so in character. Plus there's some nice marichat hurt/comfort, though purely platonic.

Timetagger 3 by rosebud1000

Years after Hawkmoth's defeat, Marinette and Adrien encounter Timetagger for the third time. And this battle hits closer to home than any other.

One-shot. Here we have some more of the fallout from Gabriel being a shitty parent, only we have an adult Adrien who is a father himself struggling to reconcile how his father acted with his own parental feelings. As a parent, I really felt this one.

Chat Noir's Family by fleurjaune

The thing is-

The thing is Adrien doesn’t actually mean to lie. Not at first anyway, but they have to keep their secret identities secret don’t they?

And his family, well, their tragedy is out there for the world to see and the world did see it.

One-shot. The more Chat lies about his life and his family, the more we learn about Adrien and see how he wishes his life was. And that chasm...really fucking hurts. I wish this sweet boy could have the kinds of relationships and family dynamics he lies about.

Partners by @karkalicious769

"Um." Alya fidgeted nervously as her earrings beeped their countdown. "Ask me a question that only Ladybug would know the answer to."

Chat Noir barred his teeth, and— Were they always that sharp? At least he wasn't growling again. "You are not Ladybug," he snapped.

"Just do it!"

It was all Alya had to go off of and she really needed to pull this partnership together before the akuma got any worse. She wasn't deluded enough to think that she could do this without Chat Noir.

One-shot. SPOILERS FOR HACK-SAN!!! And yet some more season 4 feels because let's be serious, this season is putting our kitty through the ringer. And this fic definitely does it, though by playing with the episode a little. Although we've got a tight Alya POV, Adrien's hurt and suffering is palpable, and made all the worse by how resigned he is. Read this and sufferrrrrr.

[earnestly-endlessly]

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

[naomithespirit]

Puppet Waltz - Some Random Thoughts

It is now currently Oct. 2nd at 4:09 AM and I am writing this out because I have the energy. This is mostly going to be a post sharing the random thoughts stewing around in my head. And I will now be sharing as many as I can. The New Addisons: I mentioned in the previous post I had that I made some Addison OCs and, yeah. They exist. They're present and I think they're very cool. So lemme list them off. Red - Red, with the name of Adrian, is the first of the new Addisons and uses She/Her Pronouns. What she advertises is stuff mainly focused around weapons. Things like halberds, boxing gloves, swords, a lot of things. She's very proud of this stuff but she doesn't like hanging around the other Addisons. Not because she dislikes their whole dynamic, but because she's just so focused on making sure everything about her craft is right. Purple - Purple, with the name Adonis, is the second of the new Addisons and uses They/Them pronouns. Further, they're also the second tallest Addison with the third one that I will mention shortly, being the tallest. Adonis very much advertises for various gardening supplies as well as a main flower shop. But they also partially advertise for different horror movies. It's certainly very interesting finding them sometimes. They're completely cool with the main Addisons and their found family dynamic but wanted to make a new group. Adonis and Adrian are actually pretty good friends. Lime - Lime, with the name of Adio, is the third and one of the last new Addisons I've made and uses He/Him pronouns. Of all the Addisons, he is by far the tallest, even taller than the ones that already existed. Adio's advertisements are for an organization that involves research into helping Monsters that have "Fallen Down" and Humans that difficult to treat/presently incurable illnesses residing in their SOULs. He became a close member of the main Addison dynamic while also being good friends with Adonis and a friendly rival with Adrian. He's generally very nice and patient because he understands how hard things can be sometimes. Though...everyone wishes his ads didn't get discontinued. Even if it was for a "rework", they miss him every day. Okay! So those are the three Addisons that I created and wanted to share. But I felt bad that I didn't do it last post. So there's that and I'm glad I've done it. Now onto the next stuff! What is Spamton and Kris' deal in this AU? Well. To put it simply, they become good friends as the story progresses in this AU. To be more detailed about it(and I'm not sure if I've already mentioned this so please forgive me).... Kris encounters Spamton NEO but, before any fight can occur, Spamton's dialogue changes. He says completely new things. KRIS. I NOTICED THAT YOU SEEMED TO [Shake] AND [Tremble] WHILE WAITING FOR ME TO [Transfer] INTO MY [Workout-Ready Body]! Kris says nothing. Spamton NEO then turns and raises both his arms up grabbing and pull on one of his strings. THESE STRINGS. WHY? WHY DO I HAVE THESE [Strings Attached] TO ME? SHOULDN'T I FINALLY HAVE IT, KRIS? MY [Freedom]? WHY AM I STILL JUST A [Puppet] ON THESE [!?$!]ING STRINGS?! WHY IS IT SO DARK? SO....SO DARK....? There's a pause in Spamton NEO's words as his head moves up and down and his arms spin rapidly. Kris begins to tremble more but they seem to be trying to repress their emotions. Eventually, Spamton NEO speaks again. KRIS. THERE IS SOMETHING I NEED TO KNOW. BUT I CAN'T FORCE YOU TO ANSWER. I CAN'T. I WON'T TRY TO FORCE YOU. BUT. He turns around, now facing Kris. He notices their trembling and his head tilts. YOU'RE [Shaking in your boots] KRIS. THEN THAT MAKES MY QUESTION MORE [Important]. His body sways closer to Kris. Kris doesn't move. KRIS. He moves closer. Kris doesn't move, but their trembling worsens. THAT [[SOUL]] YOU HAVE. CALL IT A [Hunch] BUT. HAVE YOU [Lost control of your life]] BECAUSE OF IT? Kris' mouth noticeably moves and they collapse onto the tracks. Then, suddenly, a black box appears with two different choices and The SOUL in the center. And, although faint, Spamton

NEO can see this. He sees The SOUL flickering between these two options. And he also sees Kris' trembling becoming worse. And so he does the first thing that comes to mind. He destroys the box with a single [BIG SHOT]. And as though it were on autopilot....he speaks something that feels natural to him. I WAS TALKING TO KRIS. I DON'T THINK I ASKED [[YOU]] FOR INPUT. BUT. THIS GIVES ME ALL THE ANSWERS I COULD EVER NEED. YOU'RE A [HEART] ON A [CHAIN]. A [PUPPET]. JUST....like....[Me]. Fun fact! Most of this dialogue is based off a dream I had where I was watching from an outsider's perspective. Not from Spamton's POV, not from Kris' not even from The SOUL's. I could see every angle, like I was a camera circling the scene itself. It was incredible. Even the way his voice seemed to echo in the long hall of tracks. Every rustle of clothing from Kris' side of things, to Spamton's occasional creak and groan, to the whooshing his arms made whenever they made a full circle. Even the sounds the wires made sounded so....real. It felt like I was really there. Funny how that works out. There's a lot more to this that I wanna share but I don't want to write a post that takes two days to complete so I'll leave this here.

[maboroshi-no]

Hamefura LN11 Moments: NicolxKatarina

While reading Hamefura Light Novel Volume 11, I wrote some summary / quick translations of some moments.

Here is the NicolxKatarina moment in the book.

Context:

Katarina has decided to study love so that she can face her feelings

Katarina went to the castle’s library on her day off to search for memo containing hints regarding FL2

Katarina’s POV

After Alan leaves, Katarina meets Nicol at the library. Katarina thinks to herself that she is meeting a lot of her friends today.

Katarina: "Lord Nicol!"

When I called out to him, Nicol turned around and smiled when he recognized me. I could see roses behind him. Nicol's devilish charm seemed to be in full force today too. Since it had been a while, his devilish aura made me a little dizzy but I could pull myself together.

Katarina: "Are you working?"

As I asked him this, Nicol replied "That's right" and

Nicol: "What about you, Katarina?"

He asked me.

Katarina: "I have come to do some personal research."

Hearing my reply, Nicol nodded and

Nicol: "What are you researching?"

Katarina: "Umm... Old folktales."

Even if the castle's library was not as large as the library at the Ministry of Magic, it would take a tremendous time to check the entire book collection. It's just impossible. Even so, I had an idea of the kind of books I had to check. Since the memo was inside a romance novel, I wish I could check some, but this kind of book cannot be found in the castle's library. I thought of checking books of similar genres but I don't think I'll find any there either. The closest kind of books would be old folktales. There are many of them too, but since I will only flip pages, I should be able to check many of them even just today.

Nicol: "I see. Then it's this way."

Nicol kindly told me where I could find some. As expected of Nicol, he remembers where each book is.

Katarina: "Thank you very much."

Nicol: "It's fine."

As he nodded, he started scanning the books that might be related to my work. Even though he was just opening books, I couldn't help being fascinated by this beautiful sight. And then I remembered my goal and opened an old folktale book. I was only planning to confirm whether there was a memo inside by flipping the pages but since the content seemed very interesting, I ended up looking over them. A story about magic users coming from a faraway land to Sorcier, a story about an altar being built to increase magic powers, a story about a rampaging monster sealed using magic, and others. There were a great variety of folktales coming from all kinds of places. Before I knew it, I ended up frantically reading them.

Nicol: "...rina. Katarina"

Hearing Nicol's voice calling out to me, I snapped out of it. I had been completely absorbed in the books.

Nicol: "It seems like you were really focused."

Nicol said this while looking at me with his charming eyes.

Katarina: "Yes. I ended up getting absorbed in them."

As I said this, a little embarrassed, Nicol chuckled.

Nicol: "Anyway, it is already noon. Do you have any plans for lunch?"

Katarina: "Oh, you're right, it is already noon."

Because I got really absorbed, time passed in the blink of an eye. Why did I even come?

Katarina: "I have brought a boxed lunch with me. The weather is fine today, so I was thinking of eating outside."

Since I was planning on working all day today, the Claes family's cook made me a boxed lunch. Food and drinks are not allowed inside the library so I had planned to eat on one of the tables of the park.

Katarina: "Ah! Lord Nicol, if it's alright, would you like to join me? The chef made a lot of food."

It had been a while since the chef made me a boxed lunch. As a result, I made lots of requests and ended up with a large quantity of food. I'd rather not have leftovers if possible, so I would appreciate it if Nicol helped me. Nicol gave it some thought and

Nicol: "In that case, I will take you up on your offer."

He said, nodding. Then, we spread the contents of the boxed lunch on a table at the park. The boxed lunch that the Claes' family's cook put all his expertise into making looked absolutely delicious. I split it with Nicol. *munch*, *munch*, *munch*.

Katarina: "Mmm... Delicious!"

It has been a while since I ate a boxed lunch outside and enjoyed the food made by the cook who has a keen understanding of my tastes. It was so delicious. Each mouthful was pure happiness. At the Ministry of Magic, it was common to eat with everyone at the dining hall. Nicol too was chomping his food. Come to think of it, that time when we went to the orphanage, Nicol had brought a homemade boxed lunch.

Katarina: "Your homemade lunch from that time was very delicious too, Lord Nicol. For you to even be able to cook, you are so amazing!

Nicol can really do anything. 

Nicol: "It was mostly made by the cooks from my home. I only helped a little."

This is what Nicol said but I have already heard from Sophia, who is crazy about her brother, that Nicol made most of it alone at night. So I already know he is just being modest. Nicol looks devilish at first glance, but he is actually a humble ordinary big brother. There is a huge gap between how he is inside and how he looks outside. Oh, that's right. Nicol is probably more knowledgeable about romantic love than Alan. And so, I threw that question to Nicol too.

Katarina: "Lord Nicol, about love..."

At that moment, I remembered the question I had asked him before I entered the academy. When I casually asked him "Is there someone who caught your eye?", he replied "I fancy someone I must not have feelings for". Since I know it for a fact, he definitely knows about romantic love. And a painful one too... If I ask him now, things will become awkward. As I stiffened up because I didn't know what to say, Nicol asked

Nicol: "What's wrong?"

he said, looking at me with a puzzled face. I wonder if I should continue. Let's see... What should I say? In a complete panic, what came out of my mouth,

Katarina: "Umm, Lord Nicol... You told me before that there was a person you fancied... How did it go?"

That was way too blunt. I regretted asking him, but it was too late. I asked him again, even though he said it was a forbidden love with someone he was not allowed to love... Thinking about it, Nicol has been going on marriage interviews since then. It probably didn't go well... And I asked him about it, I really have zero delicacy!

Katarina: "...Ummm, Lord Nicol. You don't need to answer if it is too hard for you."

Even though I said this,

Nicol: "...I love them."

Translation Note: Nicol doesn't use any pronoun on the line above or all the lines after. So it can also be interpreted as "I love you".

He said. He told me this while looking straight into my eyes, so my face somehow turned hot.

Katarina: "Oh, you mean that person?"

As I plainly asked this, Nicol nodded in agreement. Nicol is a man of few words after all. For a moment, it felt like he was talking about me. This is so embarrassing!

Nicol: "...There was a time when I thought of throwing away my feelings because I had to forget them."

Oh, so that's why he has been going on marriage interviews. Nicol is so wonderful, but there is a person out there who won't return his feelings. Who in the world can that person be? I thought before it might be a man, but I feel like Nicol could have made him fall for him all the same if it were the case. I wonder if it was a married woman then. If it were, it must have been very hard. And painful.

Nicol: "I just couldn't throw away these feelings."

I knew these words were directed towards that person, but since he said this while staring straight at me, his incredibly strong devilish aura made my face turn hot. 

Nicol: "I don't think I will ever love anyone as much as I love them."

I really wish he would stop with the passionate gaze and the seductive voice. I was the one who asked in the first place though. Somehow, because I haven't been seeing Nicol much lately, my resistance to his devilish aura is decreasing. And then

Nicol: "I love them."

As he said this so passionately, my head who had reached its limit gave out.

Nicol's POV

I, Nicol Ascart, felt at a loss as I was holding in my arms Katarina, who had collapsed. And then I reflected on what happened. I met her for the first time in a while, and I was feeling elated since I had been blessed with an opportunity to have lunch alone with her. I took advantage of Katarina's misunderstanding about my beloved and told her, while staring at her aqua blue eyes, the feelings that I could normally never tell her. The blushing Katarina who was denying the possibility that I could be talking about her was such a lovely sight, so I ended up steadily telling her my feelings. As a result, Katarina turned bright red and collapsed. Katarina, along with my younger sister Sophia, enjoys reading romance novels but she herself can't handle sweet nothings whispered to her. Ever since her fiancé Geordo started putting his utmost effort courting her, I could see her feeling dizzy each time. She is usually bold and dynamic, but when it comes to love she is an inexperienced late-bloomer. I find this side of her endearing. I thought she wouldn't remember something I told her a long time ago. The thing I told her at her coming of age birthday, when I danced with her for the first time. We never talked about it afterwards and even I completely forgot about it, so I was shocked she remembered. Her body in my arms is light and she smells like the sun. Holding her like this, the terrifying thought of running off with her and making her mine came to mind. With my beloved whom I can never have against my chest, my desires started raging. As things were looking bad,

Sophia: Big Brother? What are you doing?

My savior ran up to me with a boxed lunch in her hand. Thanks to her, my desires disappeared straight away.

Nicol: "Sophia, you came just at the right time. Thank you."

I thanked Sophia before explaining to my astonished younger sister the details of what happened. I then asked for her help for what to do afterwards.

[anastasiaskywalker4]

MisterLuu

That is actually the best pairing DC can make out of Trinity aside Lois and Clark. Or Bruce

and Clark for that matter. They both fit Bruce well, though Diana is even more matched with

him. In fact she's the best match romantically for him out there. At least so far. Though

number of fanfiction and arts on the net would suggest that that spot is reserved for

Superman not Wonder Woman :D

Except maybe for Silver and Julie - all Batman's love interest are abusive and downright

toxic. Selina, Talia, Adrea, Jet. Because in terms of comics and not relationships it fits

Gotham mold. People just tend to forget it after rebirth run. Yeah the one that made Batman

impotent and unable to do anything without the Cat around. Exactly that one. And tend to

forget how terrible as human beings his lovers really are.

Going back to the point. Both Talia and Selina tried to kill him multiple times in the past, or

those close to him. Whatever right? Who wouldn't like a lover that tried to end you few times

over. Both assaulted him physically and emotionally. Repeatedly. Both scared his body and

his mind. Repeatedly. Both tried to seduce his wards (adopted sons if u like), just to get to

him. In Talia's case that was basically pedophilia. That's just sick and makes you want to

puke. Both are possessive bitches, Cat threatening his flings while they are in bed while

Talia, well Talia can even go as far as beheading (to her credit she was right with this one).

Both makes him a goddamn hypocrite. Both face no repercussions after a cold blooded

murder while at the same time he berates Diana like a dick when she came to look for his

friendship and support after Max incident. Difference is she had no choice while Selina or

Talia most certainly had. Great move Bats, hypocrite much? And most importantly they both

lie and betray him, and leave him. Over and over again. Again, that's a constant with Cat

and miss Al Ghul. Diana never showed any of those traits with any of her lovers.

Get any counselor or psychiatrist to read actual Bat love history throughout the decades

and they would be writing books on how disfuncional they are. For a love-hate dynamics

they work fine. Or for some adrenaline fueled sex, but that's it. Hell, he even banged Dinah

when they were on adrenaline high. It all has a clinical term. Trauma bonding. As opposed

to authentic bonding. Which he could have with WW, had even one of them tried.

They did not though. Out of fear of ruining their mutual respect and deep bond. In

pre-flashpoint it may have been a thing if Diana acted on it. Again, Diana, not Bruce, so cut

the crap on how he was deflecting her. He was in doubt, yeah, but clearly was ready to give

it a go. She was the one that got scared even though she was clearly had over bat hills in

love with him. Even Martian stated this to Supes. Pre Crisis ? Not really. Some flirting and

kissing, nothing more. Post-flashpoint, New 52 and Rebirth ? Also not, though DC like to

tease those two. Forever Evil gets a hint that Bruce feels more than friendship towards her,

much to Selina's dismay. And that goddamn tension when they got to spends decades

together in another realm. Mostly from Diana side again. But no. The real canon love that Diana had for Bruce was during pre-flashpoint, not counting alternative universes. And it

was so strong that it showed her loving him more than her mother and sisters. And her

lasso forced her to admit it when facing Mera. But Bruce was "dead" at that point. So yeah,

never acted upon this. Pity. You could see she regretted it.

Aside their comics history in canon universe, realistically speaking Diana is way more

similar to Bruce than Selina will ever be (or Talia for that matter). Even though at a the first

glance they are nothing alike. She's the light , he's the darkness. She believes in love and

trust, tries to see the good in everyone. He's cunning, distrustful and downright realistic to

her idealistic approach. She's honest and straight while he will not hesitate to lie or to use

violence to get results. And you know what? It makes for great couple chemistry and

tension. It may be a cliche, yeah, but Yin and Yang dynamics work. That's why Clark ends

up with Lois all the freaking time. Even on elseworlds he and Diana are a thing only after

Lois is out of the picture. But that's not the most important thing. Yin and Yang provides for

a tension yes, but it would never last in the long run. For a relationship you need also

something in common. And Bruce has that in spades with Diana.

They might be on opposite side of the spectrum but than you realize how much alike they

really are. They are both kindred spirits. Both born fighters, warriors at heart. Arguably two

of the best in the world. At least Diana is according to Batman. And judging by Wonder

Woman's choices in man that is a highly important trait to her. Both endlessly fighting for

others. Both have utmost respect and admiration for each other. Both tirelessly train to

make themselves physically and spiritually better. Constantly. And to make the other better.

Their sparring sessions are legendary. And heated. Both with a great heart and

compassion. I would argue that Bruce's compassion is even bigger than Diana's. Even

though their methods might differ they share the same goal, which he has with no other

woman. Both have the heart of a warrior and are pushed by the circumstances of their

upbringing to reach for impossible dreams. They are also two of the most stubborn and

obstinate people in DC universe. Both perfectly capable of operating solo, and yet both

performing the best in a team. And yes, Bats is a great team player. Both natural leaders

that other heroes follow without hesitation. Both selfless and able to sacrifice for those they

value, trust and love. None of the other Bat trollups have any of those traits. Not to mention

they emotionally and physically find the other highly attractive. One being a literal goddess

and the other perfect male specimen. As for Batman, his relationships tend to collapse due

to a lack of trust. He's either unwilling to bring his romantic partner fully into his world or he

can't bring himself to trust completely. While Selina got his trust now, it's recent

development. And a mistake judging by latest issues. Again. One would think he's smarter.

When it comes to Diana, he trusts her. Fully. She's not privy like BatClan is to his world, but

they aren't that close in mainstream DC. She's not a psycho with daddy issues or a violent

narcissist. List can go on. Selina on the other hand doesn't have that much in common with

Bruce than she has. Not even close. He loves her, yes. But I don't see Di leaving him

countless times over the choices he makes. Or lying, or betraying, or trying to sleep with

Dick to spite him or... you get the point. Though there is one thing that gives Kyle an edge.

Immortality. Diana won't die unless killed. It doesn't make for a great long term relationship

prospect. But then again, those are comics, and he's a goddamn Batman. He would find a

way :)

The thing is - there is no other woman that fits his world as much as Diana does. And Bat is

capable to loving deeply and going to great commitments with a special woman. He showed

it with Andrea, he showed it with Silver. Problem is he always got burned. Every time he let

his guard down and opened himself. And he would have to do it when it comes to Wonder

Woman. She deserves that. It's hard to imagine with current Bruce, but it is most definitely

possible. It would be harder than with an ex criminal or an assassin though. Because there

would be much more on the line. The other two would crawl back anyway if he messed it

up, Di wouldn't.

There is also another aspect to this outside comic universe. His partners tend to be minor

characters compared to WW. She has her own series, JL, JL dark and every major

crossover/event happening in DC. They don't. And so does Batman. Both are one of the

most popular DC characters.

Besides changes to Bruce writing that are needed to make this work (cough.. pre flashpoint

Bats... cough), it would require fitting it to their distinctive titles. And frankly Diana can easily

function without any love interest and generate money. It's even easier that way. It fits her

as an independent, strong female character. Arguably most iconic of them all. And It's most

certainly easier for DC with a tease here and there than an actual WonderBat in mainstream.

Maisterluu wrote this is a comment on a YouTube video which is dow in the comments. They make really good points for ww and bats. No hate to other DC ships with ww and bats.

[bookofmirth]

Hello! This is a bit different from your usual gwynriel/elucien asks, so I hope you don’t mind, but it’s something that’s been bothering me lately and I wonder if anyone else has noticed.

I’m not sure if it’s because if the upsurge in popularity of acotar on tiktok/twitter with a younger audience reading it, or if I’ve just been lucky and not noticed it before, but I’ve seen so many Tamlin stans coming out of the woodwork and it honestly bothers me.

I definitely do agree that Tamlin is a complex character and of course, it’s fine that people are interested in him (I really don’t care about him, but to each their own)! But lately there have been so many people in the fandom arguing that he’s a victim of PTSD who deserves better, often villainizing Feyre/Lucien because of this.

I‘ve seen takes that Feyre was gaslighting Tamlin when she told him she was happy with Rhys because Rhys still had the whole night court persona going on?? And that Lucien and Feyre were a horrible support system because they wouldn’t stand up to him (completely ignoring that when they did Tamlin … ya know … physically hurt both of them)? And that somehow Feyre spying in the Spring Court in ACOWAR was also abusive and manipulative towards Tamlin?

I just genuinely don’t understand where all of this is coming from. I try to be critical of SJM’s writing because I understand that it can be flawed, especially since I have problems with how Feysand was written after ACOWAR, Azriel’s issues with women, the IC’s treatment of Nesta, etc. But I just can’t seem to get behind these interpretations and I’m not sure if I’m just missing something (or ‘biased’ by Feyre’s POV as some claim).

Wooooooo boy, so I didn't know that this was a thing happening but lemme break down how wrong these people are with some of these arguments! This is going to get long.

(I definitely don't mind, I appreciate any ask that's not just about ship wars!)

So I'm going to lay out the claims people are making and talk about them one at a time.

Tamlin has PTSD:

Probably yes. In the beginning of acomaf, Feyre mentions that he has trouble sleeping, just like she does, and I believe he gets up at night, and this is when their relationship really deteriorates. I can't say for sure what he was experiencing, but it seems like he had a lot of anxiety and fears left over from Amarantha and watching Feyre die. The things he was experiencing emotionally are 1000% understandable and valid, even if it wasn't diagnosable PTSD.

But you know who else likely has PTSD? Lucien and Feyre.

Say it with me everyone: emotions do not always justify behaviors.

Feyre is gaslighting Tamlin:

Hell fucking no.

People need to learn what gaslighting is. Gaslighting is not just "lying". Gaslighting is not "disagreeing". Gaslighting is a very specific tactic used to make someone question their memory, their reality, to twist the truth.

Rhys definitely had a persona. That was a calculated decision. But when Feyre tells Tamlin that she is happy, she is not lying at all. Her telling Tamlin that she is happy has nothing to do with whatever lies or manipulations that Rhys did in the past. Why? Because even if Rhys was a super asshole dark dude, Feyre saying she is happy with him is still the truth. Feyre isn't lying, let alone gaslighting Tamlin, that idea is completely laughable.

The only way that people could say that Feyre is gaslighting Tamlin is to say that she is responsible for Rhysand's Dark persona, that she is the one who created it with the intention of making people question what they thought was true. Which she isn't. That isn't even the reason that Rhys created the persona. He created it to obscure the truth in the first place.

And even his persona isn't gaslighting? He isn't trying to make people question their reality. He isn't trying to make people question themselves. He is trying to make himself look scary. And so when he drops that persona, he is telling the truth. He isn't gaslighting people, he is saying "hey I wasn't being honest before but now I am".

And i think that's a big, big difference that people are failing to understand. Gaslighting is about trying to change other people's reality. Rhys's persona was about him. Feyre saying she was happy was about her. Neither of those things were about trying to make people feel like they were crazy.

So there has to be this reality. Let's say Rhys was spotted being menacing. Person A is like "hey, you look scary!" And he's like "noice, my evil plan is working." Then later on Rhys is like "hey you know what, I wasn't being honest before, I'm actually a Super Cool Dude." Person A might be confused for a minute because what they thought was true wasn't true, but they'll get there.

If it were gaslighting, on the other hand, it would go more like: Rhys: *is nice*. Person A: "hey, I thought you were scary though?" Rhys: "nah, that was my good twin, Rhysnaldo. I've never been nice a day in my life. You must be confused." Person A: *questioning everything they thought they just witnessed".

So yeah anyway, people gotta stop using that term if they don't know what it means.

Feyre manipulating Tamlin:

Personally, I agree with the argument that she manipulated Tamlin in the beginning of acowar. I don't think that's even a matter of interpretation, she went to Spring with the intention of burning shit down.

Feyre was not abusive towards Tamlin. She knew his weaknesses and exploited them. I don't care that she did that to him, I think that she deserved a bit of vengeance. However, personally I cannot stand the fact that in doing so she caused a lot of collateral damage and did not gaf. Deal with your abusive ex however you need to, Feyre. Don't knowingly, intentionally bring harm to other people in doing so.

Feyre and Lucien failing as a support system:

NO.

Feyre literally saved Tamlin's life by killing and dying for him. Lucien was also tortured by Amarantha because of Tamlin. Neither of them broke and betrayed him. They were incredibly loyal to him throughout acotar. Even now, when Lucien is being emotionally and physically abused by Tamlin, Lucien is still trying to work with him, make sure he is fed, make sure he doesn't completely lose his humanity fae-ness. Lucien is the only reason that the Spring Court hasn't completely collapsed while Tamlin wallows in his beasty feelings.

Any time that either Feyre or Lucien try to stand up to Tamlin, he gets manipulative and abusive. He emotionally manipulates Feyre into feeling guilty for wanting to be able to defend herself. He emotionally abuses Feyre by making her afraid of his anger and afraid of how he will react to anything that she says or does. He glares or shouts down anything the Lucien says.

Also, Tamlin is a High Lord! They can only do so much when it comes to standing up to him.

For real, Feyre and Lucien did literally everything that they possibly could in order to try to support Tamlin, and much of that was to their own detriment. In trying to support Tamlin, they got emotional and physical abuse in return. So no, fuck that. Being supportive does not mean we have to put up with abuse.

Being biased in Feyre's favor:

We are not biased by Feyre's POV in the sense that she is trying to mislead the reader, but we are limited by her POV because she doesn't know everything. She tells us the truth as she knows it. That is very different from a narrator who is intentionally trying to hide things or lie or mislead.

But even if we were biased by Feyre's POV, so fucking what??? Is it so wrong to take the side of a victim of abuse? Why do we need to try so hard to understand Tamlin's side? People can do that, of course, I have myself, especially later on in the story. In acofas I started to feel sorry for him. I've been mad at how Rhys treated him in acofas. But the idea of being biased in Feyre's favor means that we would have to question her, in some way, when she recounts the story of her abuse. That's disgusting, to me. What reason do we have to think she isn't telling her story truthfully?

We might naturally have more empathy towards Feyre because we heard the story from her POV, but again - why is that a bad thing? To hear a story from the victim of abuse and feel empathy for them??? Call me crazy but that's not a problem. I'm going to empathize with Feyre, and I'm going to believe Mor (and Rhys, and Lucien). The end.

A final word

Just something you said in the last paragraph struck me, in regards to Azriel's view of women and how the IC treats Nesta: those are not thing to criticize in sjm's writing, I think. Just because Tamlin is abusive doesn't mean that sjm shouldn't have written him that way, ya know? If there are inconsistencies in characterization or a lack of understanding of abusive dynamics or alcohol abuse or something like that, those are things we can criticize in her writing. But characters do uncomfy things, that's supposed to happen.

What I'm trying to say is that there is a difference between criticizing a character's actions, and criticizing the way they have been written. Pretty much everything above falls under the realm of "analyzing a character or story", not criticizing the author.

[luxekook]

chapter four.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 3.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, noona kink, general chaotic energy, poly relationships, slight implications of switch!reader and sub!jk, jin being a beautiful mess, make-out sesh with multiple people oops

⇥ beta reader: the lovely @shadowsremedy​

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Four

Taehyung’s Room, BTS House – 10:49pm

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

Namjoon’s question fills the room. The boys all stare at me with anticipation, leaning forward with furrowed brows.

I ponder my course of action for all of two seconds before launching into my well-practiced rant, “I want to know what sort of sick prank you think you’re playing, because I am not falling for it. I mean – all of you wanting to date one person? Date me? Seems fake, but okay.”

Some of the boys move to interrupt me, but I thrust up a palm, “No, please let me finish. I know I don’t really have the right to make judgements about you guys, but I have seen some misogynistic behavior from your frat. So, I feel like it’s not that far-fetched for me to think that you’re probably playing me.”

“Messy gymnast behavior? What’s that?” Jungkook whispers to Hoseok who just shrugs, looking equally as baffled.

“Misogynistic, Kook, not messy gymnast,” Namjoon pinches his nose in frustration, “It means prejudiced against women.”

Seokjin and Jimin descend into fits of laughter. Hoseok still looks mildly perplexed, and Yoongi takes a large sip of soju from a bottle he procured from god knows where within the last few minutes.

Covering his face, Jungkook dives behind Jin in hopes of further hiding his embarrassment.

“I think I know what she’s talking about.”

The room quiets at Taehyung’s interjection. He reluctantly sits up from his relaxed position on his bed and explains, “When we met at our party last semester, she found out about our old pledge tradition.”

“Oh, damn,” Jimin sighs, “So that’s why you motioned to remove it from the chapter’s history at the last meeting.”

“Yeah,” Tae looks me in the eyes, “We voted removed it, (y/n) ... A little too late though, it seems.”

Jungkook peeks his head out from behind Jin’s shoulder, “We’re sorry, noona.”

Trying not to internally melt in response at the youngest’s display of classic puppy-dog eyes, I slump against the wall and slide into a sitting position on the floor. “Look, I’m not going to say that ‘it’s okay’ because it’s not. But I do appreciate that you removed it.”

The boys hang their heads, looking properly chastised.

“That’s fair,” Namjoon finally says quietly, “We know as a frat we fucked up. We’re not perfect. We make a lot of mistakes. But we’re trying to get back to being respectable and move on from here.”

“We’re trying to get back your respect,” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck, looking at me with wide eyes and more attentiveness than I’ve ever seen from him.

“But that’s the other thing,” I look away, pulling at a random thread fraying off of the sleeve of my sweatshirt, “Why does it matter so much that I respect you? Why are you all so invested in me all of a sudden? In all honesty, I haven’t said more than two words in conversation to half of you.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really matter,” Namjoon shrugs, shifting to lean casually against the wall.

My eyes narrow, “How can it not matter?”

“Because we date as a group, (y/n)-noona,” Jimin smiles down at me from his perch on Taehyung’s bed, all squishy cheeks and crinkled eyes, “Tae thought we’d all like you, and then Jungkookie and Joon-hyung agreed and—”

Hoseok excitedly chimes in, arms swinging wildly, “And finding someone who we all like hasn’t happened in so long, and I’m so happy!”

“Yah, Hobi!” Jin reaches over Jungkook to shove the bouncing boy, “We’re supposed to be playing it cool. We have to woo her.” He winks and blows me a kiss.

Instinctively, I swat it away and then giggle at Seokjin’s indignant gasp.

“I take it back! She’s mean!” Launching into a passionate rant complete with head shaking and wild eyes, Jin continues, “Consider that kiss null and void. I have never been so insulted in my entire life, you know!”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I collapse from laughing alongside the rest of the boys. Namjoon’s dimples are out in full force as he drawls, “Hyung, that’s what you said yesterday when I beat you in Overwatch.”

Seokjin splutters over the now-renewed laughter of his younger brothers, “I thought I told you to never speak of that again!”

Trailing off in mumbles of how he needs new friends and how disrespected he is as an elder, Jin resorts to pouting in the corner.

“You’ll have to excuse Seokjin-hyung, (y/n),” Taehyung smirks at me with raised eyebrows, “He’s skated by solely on his looks up until now.”

Seokjin’s pouting intensifies.

“He is handsome,” I instinctively respond, fully focused on the beauty of Jin’s pouty lips. And when those lips break into a huge grin, I cringe at my lapse in judgement for the thousandth time that night.

“My faith in humanity has been restored!” Jin ambles back to his original spot next to Jungkook and thrusts a paper heart that he apparently had been carrying on his person for quite some time in my direction.

“Hyung,” Hoseok eyes Seokjin with a concerned frown, “Where did you even get that from?”

“That’s one secret I’ll never tell.” Jin barely finishes that sentence before a flurry of pillows, water bottles, and other miscellaneous items are thrown at him from all angles.

“I thought we agreed no more quoting Gossip Girl, Jin-hyung!” Jimin cries as he continues to hit Jin with a pillow from Tae’s bed.

Miraculously still even able to speak under the assault from the other boys, Jin replies with complete sincerity, “XOXO.”

Chaos reigns.

Watching all seven of them in - presumably - their most natural state, I sigh in amusement, “Y’all are too much.”

Somehow the boys hear me, because they all turn to face me once more with various expressions of playfulness and mirth. Jin still lies under the pile of them laughing slightly as they slowly shift off of him.

“Nah, I think we might be just enough for you, noona,” Jungkook pipes up as he plops down on the edge of Taehyung’s bed.

“Yeah? And how do you know that?” A sudden thought occurs to me, “Wait, why do you all even date one person anyway? Don’t you realize like half the campus is in love with each of you?”

“You’re included in that half, right?” Taehyung grins and then shrinks under my withering glare, “I mean, it’s a long story?”

“Oh, hold on,” I check my wrist, which noticeably has no watch, “Mhm, that’s right. It’s story time.”

Jimin snorts and then burrows under the covers in mortification.

“Cute,” Hoseok sighs, staring at me, “I want to keep you.”

And there’s something about having Jung Hoseok’s full attention and adoration that brings me to peak devastation. I pull my hood up over my head and burrow into my sweatshirt.

“Aw!” Various yells rebound around the room. I flip them all off.

“Hobi,” Yoongi teases, “I think she likes you.”

I peek out of the safety of my sweatshirt to eviscerate him with my eyes, but Yoongi just raises one brow coolly and calls me out, “Well, am I wrong, jagi?”

All eyes are on me, and the room is suddenly so quiet that all I can hear is the muffled party downstairs and the beating of my heart.

“... I want my lawyer,” I finally declare, re-emerging from the depths of my sweatshirt and crossing my arms.

“Oh, come on, noona!” Jimin shuffles across the room and kneels in front of me, causing me to descend into a panic, “You like Hoseok-hyung, right? Well, what about me? Do you like me?”

Jimin peers down at me, pink hair tussled and eyes shining. How could I ever say no to that beautiful face? That angelic human?

Must.

Deflect.

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. Why do you all date the same person when each of you could have anyone you want?”

Jimin deflates and sits back on his heels, frowning at my non-answer.

“But we do already date everyone we want,” Hoseok cuts in, giggling, “Well, almost.”

They’re already dating people? My mind wracks through all my knowledge of the seven boys sitting before me, but no evidence of them dating anyone pops up. “Wait, I’m confused. Who are you all dating then?”

I can’t help but feel like I’m on the outside of an inside joke as the boys all exchange looks that are all too smug for my liking.

“Seems like we did a good job, boys,” Namjoon chuckles, “People on this campus are pretty oblivious.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, “They just choose not to see it. They want us all to be fully available.”

The lightbulb finally flickers on in my mind.

“Oh my sweet baby Jesus,” I whisper, “You’re all dating each other, aren’t you?”

Various nods answer that question. Jin, of course, being Jin, wipes an imaginary tear from his eye as he dramatically laments, “And she’s smart, too? How did we get so lucky, boys?”

“Yoongi,” I say calmly, “Please pass me that soju before I commit murder in this very room.”

Without a word, Yoongi hands me the bottle before settling down in the space next to me against the wall.

Suddenly hyperaware of my positioning, I realize I’m sitting in between Jimin and Yoongi. Jungkook, Taehyung and Hobi now sit together on Tae’s bed, while Jin remains on the floor surrounded by various pillows and debris.

Namjoon is still leaning against the opposite wall, looking way too intimidating and perfect that I’m forced to look away.

That is, until he starts to speak. “(y/n), the seven of us have always been close. We grew up together; and, somehow, we just work as a unit. We work together. It may seem odd or untraditional. Maybe it is. But, it’s who we are. And it’s how we love.”

Namjoon continues, “We don't want to lose what we have together, this dynamic we've spent so long building. But, we’ve been feeling like something has been missing from our relationship lately. We’ve been looking for someone to help complete us.”

“And you think that person is me?” I suck in a jagged breath, “You really want to share me? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

"There are crazier things," Yoongi shrugs, taking back the bottle of soju from my grasp, "Like how Namjoon has an IQ of 148 but can't seem to live one day without breaking something."

Namjoon, looking affronted, opens and closes his mouth, but ultimately settles on just smiling bashfully. My heart almost explodes at such a display of cuteness.

"It's really not that crazy, (y/n)," Taehyung interrupts my internal fawning, "You seem like a girl who’s intimidated by no one and nothing. We really, really like that. And we figured since you kissed me and Jungkook that you might be interested.”

Embarrassment washes over me. I steal back the soju from Yoongi, who just smirks knowingly.

“Besides, polyamory is actually more common than you think,” Hobi smiles in that pretty heart-shaped way of his.

He has a valid point. Who am I to be the judge of what love looks like? Who am I to criticize these boys who clearly love each other and just want one more person to love? Who am I to deny myself the opportunity to be loved by seven people?

“Can I think about it?" I ask, still fighting the inevitable for whatever reason, "I'm not saying 'no’. I just need a bit of time to think it over."

"Take all the time you need, baby," Namjoon murmurs, looking like I just handed him the keys to the entire world.

"No,” Jimin groans, burrowing his head in the crook of my shoulder, “Please, please, please don't take all the time you need, (y/n)-noona! I can’t wait that long!”

I reach up to stroke my fingers through his pink hair in an attempt to soothe the poor angel.

“Do we have permission to continue to woo you during this ‘thinking’ period?” Jin inquires, casting a look of jealousy at Jimin who is now nestled even further into me.

“Continue?” I ask, “When did you start?”

“Yah!” Seokjin exclaims, “Why does she keep roasting me?”

“I think it’s hot,” Jungkook grins at me with stars in his eyes.

“That’s because you’re a masochist, Kook,” Taehyung cackles from his perch on the bed.

“Ah, hyung!” Jungkook jumps on Taehyung in an effort to silence him, “She doesn’t need to know that yet!”

“I mean, it is pretty obvious,” I pause dramatically, dropping the pitch of my voice, “Baby boy.”

Jungkook yelps and takes off out of the room.

“Shit, was that too much?” I ask, staring at the door thrown open in Jungkook’s wake.

“No,” Tae replies, still laughing, “I think he just needs a second to calm down. I’ll go see where he went.”

Taehyung gets up from the bed and shuffles out the door in search of Jungkook. The open door allows for more sounds from the party to seep into the room.

Namjoon sighs, “I should probably check on what’s happening down there, shouldn’t I?”

“Good luck, man,” Yoongi tears the soju back out of my hand and lifts it up in cheers to Namjoon. Chuckling, Namjoon ambles over to where Yoongi, Jimin and I are crowded together and grabs the soju.

After taking a long sip, he crouches down in front of me and grasps the hand that remains unoccupied by Jimin. Bringing it to his lips, Namjoon places the lightest kiss on my knuckles. “I’m so happy you showed up tonight, baby. I can only hope that my future holds more of you in any way you choose to give me.”

Pressing his lips to my palm this time, Namjoon smiles in that completely devastating way of his and then saunters out of the room. Still gaping, I realize I never even got to say a word to him in response.

“You are so whipped for him already, jagi,” Yoongi says lowly, lips brushing my ear.

I blink. My senses are on overload. Jimin is still curled into my side, with my hand stroking his hair and his lips accidentally grazing the skin of my collarbone every so often. Now, Yoongi is closer than ever. I can feel his breath against my neck and his stare focused on my lips. Meanwhile, Hobi and Jin are slowly but surely shuffling closer to where the three of us are bunched together.

“So what if I am?” I finally answer, “Aren’t you all whipped for him, too?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jimin mumbles into my shoulder.

My mind explodes.

“She’s not ready for that yet, Jiminie,” Jin giggles, “I’m pretty sure she’s still half convinced I worship Satan in the basement.”

“Well, I wasn’t before, but now I am,” I jokingly eye Seokjin up and down with an amused smile.

He grins back at me. I melt. And he knows it.

“Can I kiss you?” Jin asks, the slightest smirk curving his lips, a look of hunger burning in his gaze, like he could just eat me up, “Please?”

I swallow and his eyes latch onto the movement of my throat.

Before I can reconsider, I remove myself from my sitting position against the wall, much to Jimin and Yoongi’s dismay, and straddle Jin’s lap, immediately capturing his lips with my own.

The effect is instantaneous. Various groans echo around me as Jin smiles against my mouth. His hands find their way under my sweatshirt and squeeze my hips, dragging my body even closer against his.

The way Jin kisses is life-ruining in its unhurried, yet passionate deliberateness. He kisses me like he’s claiming me, and the possessiveness of his actions send a ripple of excitement through my body. Releasing my mouth, he works his way down the length of my exposed neck, and I gasp in response.

Suddenly, I feel another pair of hands twine around my body from behind as Hobi pleads into my ear, “Can I kiss you, too, (y/n)?”

I nod wordlessly, wondering what I did in my past life to deserve such affection in this one.

“No fair,” I vaguely hear Jimin pouting, “I want to kiss noona.”

“We’ll have our turn, Jiminie,” Yoongi’s voice causes a shudder of anticipation to race down my spine.

“Oh, she likes that idea,” Jin laughs, obviously having felt the tremor that shot though me in response to Yoongi’s suggestion, “Come get a taste.”

“Only if that’s what she really wants,” Yoongi says, meeting my eyes, “Don’t feel pressured to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, kitten.”

“Kitten?” I growl, eyes narrowed sharply in his direction.

“Yep,” Yoongi’s answering smirk is slow and antagonizing, “All cute and cuddly with a hint of claws.”

“I’ll show you claws,” I say darkly, getting up, “Stand up.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “Why?”

“I won’t ask again,” I move closer to him and Jimin.

Yoongi pulls himself to his feet, acting like it was the most physical activity he’d ever done.

When he’s finally done with the dramatics, I move closer until he’s backed right up against the wall, “Min Yoongi, I’m going to shut you up now.”

His breath stutters as I slowly move my mouth closer to his. “Please do—” I cut him off.

Kissing Yoongi is just as intoxicating as kissing Jin, but in a different way. Yoongi tastes like soju and spearmint. His body melts under my touch, completely fine with letting me lead. An idea springs to mind and I slide my hand into his hair and tug lightly. He jolts with a moan.

Bingo. I smirk before kissing him deeper. My other hand winds around him to scratch my nails down his back. This time, I’m awarded with a small whine.

The fact that I’m wrecking this boy is simultaneously wrecking me. That impact doubles when I feel a small hand begin to wind its way up my calf towards my thigh. Tearing my mouth away from Yoongi, I open my eyes to see Jimin smiling up at me, “Can you kiss me like that, too, (y/n)-noona?”

“Why couldn’t you wait your turn, Jiminie,” Yoongi sulks adorably, sensing that my resolve against any request from Jimin was nonexistent.

“Well, aren’t you supposed to be showing me the perks of dating multiple people?” I joke, “Jin and Hobi just shared. Can’t you two?”

Jimin springs up off the floor faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, “Yes! We can share!”

“Good,” I reply, turning in Yoongi’s arms so that my back is pressed against him. He hisses in a breath. “Come here, Jiminie,” I open my arms to the eager boy who all but leaps into them.

“You’re so beautiful, noona,” Jimin sighs, pupils dilated, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

“So are you, baby,” I sigh, bringing a hand up to brush his cheek fondly, “So are you.”

I kiss Jimin gently, treasuring the feel of his plump lips against my own. I trace the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip and his mouth opens in a silent gasp. I use the chance to slip my tongue inside to twine with his.

Through my thoroughly fucked-out haze, I feel Yoongi’s hands settle onto my hips, grinding me slowly against his crotch. I moan into Jimin as Yoongi’s mouth sucks on the side of my neck, surely for the sole reason of marking me.

“Well, shit, JK,” Taehyung’s voice shatters the bubble of pleasure I had been residing within in the middle of four beautiful men. My eyes flutter open to take in the sight of Taehyung holding a box of pizza and a case of beer, with Jungkook right behind him. “Looks like the party started without us.”

a/n: oops, another slight cliff-hanger? *laughs evilly*

taglist: @catsandstrawberries​​ @h5naaa​​ @meowmeowyoongles​​​ @leftflowerprunedonut​​ @rjsmochii​​ @athletes-of-god​​ @karissassirak​​ @cage7241​​ @weallhavesecretsinthebestway​​ @cvbachacbitch​​ @bewitch3dforivar​​​ @honeyspillings​​ @xxonyxpearlxx​​ @valiantcollectorofsandwiches​​ @fivesecondsofsarang​​ @oii-f-eli-x2​​ @joonsroses​​ @theevilyouknow​​​ @jooniescupcakes​​ @expensive-grl​​ @i-dont-even-know-fck​​ @doingmybestalltheftime​​ @elraeee​​ @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh​​ @laced-brds​​ @aokay1010​​ @breeeeh17​​ @lpayne612​​ @peachyharmoney​​ @rilakoya​​ @chulchuchi​​ @tabula-rasa0​​ @guccishookv​​ @nomimits7​​ @i-like-puppy-mg​​ @s-noir​​ @anna-sorel​​ @im-a-space-child​​ @yeontanismypresident​​ @drowning-in-oxygen​​ @team-wang-puppy​​ @lvvegood​​ @anongirl007​​ @may114​​ @r-e-d-i-s-h​​ @unatempesta-dipensieri​​ @dragon-rider-with-a-book​​ @blueberrygeniejam​​ @wondrsblog​​ @heterophobez​​ @vi-hoshi​​ @kirbykook​​ @queen-of--roses​​ @blu-butterfly69​​ @katemwatson​​ @kawaiikpoplover268​​ @amsteramyy​​ @sami4life​​ @a-feeling-of-euphoria​​ @the-jackals​​ @bubbletae7​​ @btsenchanting​​ @platinum-grenade​​ @bunnyboyenthusiast​​ @brightly-byun​​ @oofmeintheheadpls​​ @sadboibts​​ @lidda​​ @goldenwidow3​​ @t-mel19​​ 

blogs that wouldn’t let me tag them for some reason: @awkwardhumambean @seablueberry @sunxxxflowers @tardis1967 

[utterlyinevitable]

The Conference (Part 9)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 3.7k Rating: T+ Warning: Some cursing Summary: It’s the evening after the keynote and they go out for a civil dinner date.

A/N: shout out to ruby @starrystarrytrouble for reminding me people actually like reading this mess 💕

________________________________________

After we finished up the panel I stuck around the conference hall to network whilst Ethan had ditched the crowd at the first opportunity he got, heading back to our hotel room and venturing away from the pecking vultures. To be honest, I didn’t really blame him. Everyone wanted a piece of the poor, well-endowed man. 

A couple hours later, I shuffled back into our apartment. My aching feet somehow prevailed without causing me to collapse on the odd geometric carpet floor, or ditching my heels along the way and walking barefoot like some uncultured frosh stumbling home at 3AM. Once through the heavy metal plated door, I headed straight to my room, not throwing a single pleasantry towards Ethan in the seating area. From what I could tell he was typing furiously on his laptop after nursing a scotch - the empty crystal tumbler on the table was a dead giveaway. 

The anxiety and delirium inducing stress of the day lifted the second my kinda-sweaty body collapsed onto the private armchair in my room, clutching its aqua-colored arms and sinking into the velvet cushion. Staring out at the familiar skyline my mind started to replay the happenings of the day; every little thing that happened - from the confidence I felt during our speech, to the way that asshole called me out, and how Ethan stood up for me every step of the way. How proud he was even if he relayed the sentiment in such small words. 

We survived today. We haven’t strangled each other nor suffered any little deaths. All that’s left for this trip is the tour we have tomorrow morning, and then we’ll be on our way back to Edenbrook. Back to the way things were… 

Somehow my tired and self destructive brain decided it wanted to revel in the memories of the last few days. Thinking about all the non-work things that happened this trip. Thinking of all the words shared, and the blast from the past. And the revelation that little adventure birthed. 

Fuck me...

Things are weird. Like, so weird. I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m even thinking this… but I miss him. Today showed me how great we are together! Professionally and as friends. We’re the dynamic duo: Ramsey and his Rookie. His. I - 

I need to stop thinking that. 

I belong to myself. I do what I want when I want and with whom I want. 

And so does he. And that’s why I walked away. I’m- 

I’m still getting over him. 

While simultaneously trying to get under him… 

Thoughts wandered back to Ryan and how long it took me to get over the detrimental ‘what if’s of him. If I held on tighter and longer and didn’t get in the way of myself back then - if one thing was different - everything could be different. 

A small, revelatory gasp escaped me. 

I didn’t want things to be different. 

After eight fucking years I finally understood. 

If I didn’t love and lose Ryan I never would have found my way to Boston. To Ethan. And here - knowing what I do and having all the experiences of the last few months - I couldn’t continue a life without knowing Ethan Ramsey. 

I’m going to do whatever I can to repair our friendship. 

I changed my clothes into something not requiring heels - black skinny jeans, a blouse and my trusty Chelsea boots - and my hair pulled back into a bun. Simple, sleek, and completely me. No pomp and circumstance, or hiding behind anything. Just me, making an effort.  

With all the determination I could muster I sauntered into the living room where I assumed Ethan would still be. 

I was right; he hadn’t changed positions at all. Sitting there on the couch, his feet up on the gaudy footstool with his laptop perched on his lap, tortoise-patterned glasses framing his face, and furiously typing on the keyboard. 

“So...” I trailed awkwardly to break the tension surrounding him, leaning against the wall with my hands stuffed in my armpits. “What do you want to do for dinner?” 

“Oh,” He planted his feet on the floor and turned to face me fully, moving his laptop off of him and folding his arms in his lap. “Uh, well-”

Quickly I added, “If you’d rather eat alone it’s fine by me. I was thinking of grabbing pizza at John’s.” 

Ethan nodded in response, saying, “Sounds good.”

“Cool,” I nodded back. “You ready or…?”

“Let me grab my things,” he stood, collected his things and headed to his room.

Less than two minutes later we headed out of the apartment together, walking side by side. Though this time wasn’t like earlier. There wasn’t the blind determination and need to impress like this morning. Right now we were two people who used to know one another going out to dinner in a spectacular converted synagogue.  

***

For anyone who doesn’t know John’s, it’s a local family-style pizza joint. There’s three restaurants around the city and the Times Square location is by far the best. Every time I have a hot minute to spare I try to go - the stained glass and craftsmanship of the building is everything! But you don’t want to hear about that… and neither did Ethan when I tried to fill the silence during our walk with all the reasons to love this place. For some reason he preferred to barge and weave in silence. 

Whatever. 

Lucky enough he was more chatty once we were seated. 

Our table was in the mezzanine with not much of a view besides the stone staircase in the corner and the large dome towering above. The dim lighting complimented the deep wooden table and beige upholstered seating. 

We ordered. And without the menu to keep our attention, I tried my hand at conversation once more.  

“Be honest, how did we do?”

Looking me in the eyes, ones that mirrored mine, showed such confidence and pride as he said his next words;

“You handled it well, Becca.” There was a tug at the corners of his mouth that pulled at my own. I was about to get a rare Ramsey smile - one I’ve been devoid of for far too long. 

“Dare I even say, like a natural.” 

I got to revel in the small compliment for a few moments as the server brought over our food - garlic knots, small veggie pizza, and a chef’s side salad. 

“I didn’t stutter too much or come off too young?” I couldn’t help but ask when it was just us two again. His opinion matters more than anyone else’s when it comes to my career. 

“You did.” 

“But you -” 

He cut me off, a slight shake of his big head, “You are young and this was your first keynote.” he clarified. And once more he said pridefully, “You did well.” 

After what felt like ages we shared a private smile. How he was able to bring me back into myself with a few words and stop fussing over imposter syndrome is a wonder.  

“Now eat some pizza and be happy.” 

My smile grew to a goofy one by the way he was looking at me, bemused. I refrained from sticking my tongue out and dug into a little slice of heaven. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

We dug in. Letting the flavors dance over my taste buds and make me only as happy as a New York slice could make me. No amount of fantastic sex could compare to pizza. Everything kind of disappeared - time stopped while the first bites settled in my tummy. Even Ethan looked to be enjoying it even though it’s not fancy smancy and artery clogging. 

Eventually I broke our companioned silence;

“How was lunch with Chief Fredericks?” I asked as I reached for a scrumptious ball of garlicy dough. 

The response left his lips so swiftly he didn’t even bother to look up from his plate; 

“Informative.”

I scoffed at the non-answer answer. 

My little grumble pulled him out of his bubble and he looked over at me - those damn baby blues challenging my thoughtfully indecent outburst. I just gave him a look right back. 

Ethan rolled his eyes and reached for another slice. Cutting it up with a fork and knife like an absolute weirdo.  

“He heard about the state budget cuts. Wanted to know what I think and if I’d be open to consult every so often.” 

“And?” I probed. 

“And what? You know how I feel about the future of Edenbrook.” 

“Yes. But if it goes under, what do you think you’ll do? I mean, everyone’s going to be throwing themselves at you.” 

I shoved some greenery in my gob to keep from adding the jarring truth. 

Everyone throws themselves at you. 

But who he gives his attention to is another story.  

Ethan shrugged ever so nonchalantly, “I haven’t thought about it.” 

The cavalier way he was speaking of his life after Edenbrook had thrown me off. Ethan was never this laid-back. It just wasn’t in his nature. There’s always something for this man to stress over. And Edenbrook’s closing should be his anxiety numero uno. 

But here he was, ever so calm. 

Hmm... 

“Are you in denial?” I said through a bite, fully anticipating another non-answer.  

“Maybe.” 

The way he said it took me aback. It was inherently honest and soft. All of his jagged features were rounded and there was a dulled little twinkle in his eye. 

Yeah, something’s going on here he’s not telling me.  

“Ethan -” 

And of course he deflects by turning the conversation on me; “What are you going to do?” 

Keeping from rolling my eyes at his obvious deflection from roaming into his feelings deeper, I replied, “Transfer my residency.” 

“Where?” 

“I…” - dammit - “don’t know.”

I haven’t really dwelled on what happens when the hospital closes. Obviously I need to finish residency if I want to be an actual practicing doctor. But the matching process can go screw itself. I don’t never ever want to do that again - all I cared about was matching with the best. And I did. So who’s the second best now? 

Is it wherever he goes?  

There’s just so much to think about, and I’d really rather not. Not until the last few nails are lined up against the coffin. 

“See,” he said with a hint of a lopsided grin, “Neither of us are ready to leave Edenbrook behind.” 

He was right. Of course he’s right. You didn’t need to be a diagnostician or even a doctor to see that we’re holding out hope of a buyout. 

I’ve just gotten to Edenbrook - only a few months into my dream career with my dream boss - and now, what? It’s all over before it even really began? No. I can’t accept that. 

There was a beat of silence as we both reached for the salad tongs, our hands brushing on accident. Both our eyes shot to bear witness to the contact, pulling us out of whatever ran wild through our thoughts and into this new, secluded moment. Everything around us dulled in the distance; the sounds swirling in the air muted and like a faint breeze. The warm lighting dimmed further, yet there was a spotlight on the salad bowl. The greens and reds and purples of the ruffage illuminated like it was the only thing that mattered. Like right now the earth was spinning just for this moment of closeness. 

Surprisingly, neither of us made a motion to move. His large hand overlapping my dainty fingers, the metal underneath the pads of my fingers warming up instantly. Electricity still coursed through me like the very first time. Except now it carried the memories of all the other times and places he set me aflame. 

I had to be the one to pull back. 

Almost, like it needed time to comprehend why the moment was intentionally ruined, the atmosphere around us began to revert back slightly. I could hear the idle chatter of those around us now. I could see the full picture of Ethan sitting across from me and all the individuals pattering around behind him. What couldn’t pretend to go back and hung off kilter was the beating in my chest - I could feel the electricity coursing through my veins and putting my heart through the ringer. 

Ethan made up for it by serving me. 

Does he know he still has such an effect on me?  

Quick! I needed to divert my thoughts off of the creeping flush and want from taking hold. So I went back to talking about work, our safe topic. 

“If you could work anywhere else in the world where would it be?” I asked.  

Ethan took a moment to think as he served himself some salad. He looked like he was actually thinking of an answer, maybe, for the first time he’s digested the hospital’s fate. 

“I think the next logical step would be the Mayo Clinic. They’re the best diagnostics in the world.” His eyes diverted back down to his plate and, after a beat, he added, “I also wouldn’t mind spending more time on missions with The WHO.”

My eyes searched his as they looked anywhere but where I was seated across from him, trying to find any sort of fault in his features. Something, anything, that I could hold onto. Nothing. Just stupid sincerity. The first fucking time in weeks he actually lets us talk about his time in the Amazon I can’t be mad at him.  

“You really enjoyed your time there, huh?” 

“It…” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. 

We’ve wandered into emotional territory and we both needed to tread carefully. I need to remember that he was never mine, as much as I felt like his from our first kiss. Need to recall that back then everything was drawn out in plain sight. Our end was always just that - an end. I Need to forgive. And try to remember that at one point he did try to fight for me, in his round-a-bout noncommittal way, and I was the one to end things officially. 

We both need to forgive. Especially if these are the last few months we have working together. 

“Was important work and I got to make a difference in the lives of thousands of indigenous people.” Ethan took another small pause for breath. When he continued, his deep baritone voice was lower, “Even if my intentions for going were skewed, it was an opportunity of a lifetime.” 

The simplest thing to do would be to nod, or eat - distract myself - or even change the subject. To try not to dwell on the implications of the statement. But I couldn’t. My body tensed and the warmth from moments before fled completely. 

We were silent. The brutal truth of why he left stinging just as much as it did the day I found out. 

Minutes, many many minutes passed with me finding solace in sweet savory carbs and Ethan pushing things around on his plate. 

Eager to change the subject there was one other topic of the day I was endlessly curious to know more about; 

“So, what’s the deal with Dr. Schwab?” 

“Don’t.” He dismissed, his authoritative voice seeping through just a tad. Though I’d like to think he’s smart enough not to use it with me outside of Edenbrook.  

“If you don’t tell me I’ll be forced to fabricate my own. I’m feeling a one-night stand gone wrong.” 

He looked back down at his food. 

“Oh my god, I’m right.” The smile that erupted literally took over my entire face. I could not hide it even if I tried.  

“Rebecca,” he tried to scold. 

“Now you have to tell me.” 

Just like earlier he turned the conversation back on me; “What’s with the frat boy?” 

“Ryan was never in a fraternity,” I responded, not hiding the grin that formed by putting Ethan in his place. “He’s a jock though.” 

He expelled a dry laugh, “I don’t think that’s any better.” He took a bite of his salad. Something radiated off of Ethan I couldn’t quite place. 

“We were close in high school,” I added for reasons I’m not quite sure why. Like that explained who Ryan was and why he came back into my life now, of all times.  

Ethan made a condescending, “mhm”. 

I rolled my eyes; “We had a thing for a while, okay.” I conceded. “We grew apart senior year, and then I went off to college. Last night was the first time we’ve spoken in, like, eight years.” 

Ethan made absolutely no reactions to the statement. Not even a stupid wiggle of his dumb perfect eyebrow. 

Is he even paying attention? 

“Now tell me about Schwab - sorry, Hilary,” I coaxed.  

Ethan’s hand flew to the bridge of his nose and up to carefully rub his eyes. 

This has gotta be good. 

I waited patiently and eagerly for this story. She couldn’t have been Ethan’s type and yet… What happened!? 

Eyes still shut tight, he grumbled, “What’s there to tell?” 

“Obviously something happened,” I couldn’t help but mock, “You slept together!” 

“Yes, and it’s something I do not like to dwell on.” 

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like she does.” 

He groaned. Then shifted in his chair. Ethan took a long drag of his drink. And just when I figured he was going to wait this out until one of us changed the subject, he spoke; 

“A moment of weakness a few years back. And she was…” 

Ah! It’s actually happening! Ethan’s telling a salacious story! 

Shifting in my seat and placing my head in my hands to give him my full attention; My brows and smile grew as I finished the sentence for him, “Eager?” 

He scowled. 

“Jesus Christ, Ethan, just tell me what happened!” 

“I will not go into details.” 

“Fine.” I made a motion with my hand for him to continue without the juicy details. 

“Harper and I had just ended things for good not long before…” 

We ended up going back and forth for a while - Ethan not wanting to give anything up and me pulling as much as I could out of him. Long story short, Ethan was in a weird mental state after breaking up with Harper for the hundredth and final time in their six year relationship. He took up a conference opportunity to get away for two nights. Knowing how much he loves people, Ethan spent most of his time drowning his senses at the hotel bar. And low and behold, enter Hillary. 

From the sounds of it she was agreeable and very very forward. And Ethan was so lost in liquor that her voice didn’t irritate him as much as it did the next morning, and every single time they were in close proximity thereafter. Hillary had been going through a separation with her husband and needed a distraction just as bad. Really, who could blame her? Toting Ethan around would be the best revenge. 

The first night of his stay was fine - apparently the sex was satisfactory and she didn’t do anything remarkably memorable. Or so he says. I still think she looks like a squawker. He didn’t linger around long after before retreating to his hotel room. Then the next afternoon he was bored and weak and agreed to lunch. And lunch turned into drinks which turned into round two. In his room. And she didn’t leave. She wasn’t leaving. So Ethan bought an earlier plane ticket, and shook her awake before checking out. 

And every conference since she seems to want to entertain a rematch. 

“Oh my god, you’re horrible!” I exclaimed ever delightfully. This was hilarious! 

“I shouldn’t really be surprised. You flew to another continent after we slept together.” Shaking my head, a stupid little smirk on my lips I asked, “Have you ever had a one night stand before?” 

“Wha - of course I have!” 

“One’s that didn’t end up with you getting on a plane?” 

He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “If you must know, I’ve had my fair share in undergrad.” 

Now it was my turn to send a condescending “mhm” his way. 

We spoke longer and polished off our plates - not a single crumb remained. This was nice. Really nice getting to be close to him again and just being friends. Telling stories and exchanging playful jabs here and there. It’s how I fell for the idiot in the first place. 

Baby steps.     

-

Two hours after we arrived the server came over with the bill. 

She was friendly and lovely the whole meal. The best part about her style of service is that she let us just exist and didn’t check up all that often. When she did I could tell she overheard someone of the crap Ethan and I were spewing. She had one of those knowing smiles, like she was in on our jokes the entire time. 

“Can I just say, you guys are adorable,” she relayed with the brightest of smiles after setting the padfolio on the table, her hands clapping together excitedly. She looked like a child who had just met Santa Claus for the first time. 

L O L she thinks we’re together.  

At that I actually laughed out loud before informing, “We’re colleagues. In town for a conference.” 

The horror on the girl's face said it all. 

“Oh! My mistake, sorry. I can split the bill for you.” She reached for the pad where it sat in front of Ethan. 

He grabbed the black leather at the same time I spoke;  

"Nope, dinner’s on him.” I cupped a hand over my mouth and pointed a not-at-all discreet thumb towards him, “He'll get reimbursed," I laughed more to myself than anything. 

She smiles, a little relieved by my warmth, then turns to look at Ethan - silently asking permission or if it’s okay that he pays. Generally looking for some sort of direction from the old man.    

He shoots the server a look. Then forks over his credit card. 

As she saunters off, I smile at him sweetly, “Thank you.” 

Of course he rolls his eyes. But that rise in the corners of his mouth says so much more. 

________________________________________

A/N: sorry it’s shit. thank you for sticking with this series 💕 we’ve just got one chapter left! 

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[euphoricsunflowers]

threat or promise — lee minhyuk

request: hello is it okay if i ask for sub!minhyuk mx? i dont rlly have any thing specific to add to that im so sorry

a/n: it’s really sad but it’s also really cute but like also also horny like minhyuk is a big ass mess but it’s ok we still love him.

word count: 1.6k

content: sub!minhyuk, dom!fem!reader, angst!!, it’s only fem because pegging, pet play, puppy/owner dynamics, you guessed it more pet names because again i am s o f t, praise kink kinda

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiest @rosethefae @staranonthoughts @maknaeronix @multidreams-and-desires @mellowriting

you’re usually welcomed home with a sneak attack of kisses and hugs, along with minhyuk loudly ranting about something happening during his day, like how he gave a bird a tostito chip and it wouldn’t leave him alone or how his favorite drink was out so he had to get something else as he drags you to the couch so you could cuddle the night away.

today, though, you’re met with silence. your initial assumption of minhyuk being alseep is wrong: he’s in the living room, scrolling through his phone. he’s biting his lip, staring at the screen with an intense look, and you just can’t figure out what’s going through his head, “minnie?”

he jumps slightly, so you assume he didn’t notice you were there, but his reaction is less than sufficient to make you unsuspicious, “hey y/n.”

you sigh, setting your stuff down before sitting next to him on the couch, “come here, min,” you murmur. he barely can hold himself back for a few seconds before he gives in, falling into your arms, melting and molding against you, allowing you complete control to protect his heart, if just in that moment. it’s also not long before he starts letting out sobs that are so faint, you have to hold your breath if you’re trying to hear them. he uses your shirt to muffle his cries, and while you really don’t give a shit about the shirt, he’s worrying you, “minhyuk, talk to me baby, what do you need? do you wanna talk about it?”

he doesn’t say anything, but he hands his phone to you, which you take hesitantly. it’s off, so he’s not trying to show you anything, but he finally speaks up after a few moments of confusion, “take it away from me.”

“okay, baby, i’ll hold onto it for the time being,” you kissing the crown of his head while rubbing his back, hoping the affection will at least soothe him somewhat, “i’m not going to force you to talk about it, minnie, but if you want to talk to me, i’m here.”

he’s silent, so you take that as a sign he’s not going to talk. his arms are wrapped impossibly tight around you, as if holding on for dear life. his cheek is squished against your chest, and as much as it’s adorable, it’s so painful to see him like this. minhyuk was like the sun, just endlessly energetic and bright and he always had infinite love to give.

“y/n?” he whispers, taking you out of your thoughts.

“yes, baby?” you whisper back with another couple kisses, also running your fingers through his pale blond hair, “what’s on your mind, minnie?”

“they said i was annoying,” he murmurs, struggling to get the words out as he still cries, “they told me that i never shut up and they wish they could mute me sometimes. and usually i can handle it and just laugh it off, but today it was too much.”

it’s heartbreaking, really. minhyuk was such a kind person and yet this person, whoever they were, found it far too easy to hurt him, “thank you for telling me, min. that took a lot of strength. i—”

“am i annoying?” he cuts you off suddenly, but it only makes your heart crack a little bit more.

“of course you’re not, darling. you have so much life in you, you’re always making me laugh with your antics or making me smile with your work stories. i wouldn’t change a single thing about you, not ever,” you see him smile ever so slightly, and though it’s not enough to completely make his pain go away, his smile is a familiar sight that you’re so relieved to see.

“promise?”

“i pinky promise, min,” you hold him just as tight as he holds you, wishing you could take all his pain away.

“could you…” he murmurs softly, “could you distract me?”

“of course min, what do you wanna do? i can play a movie and get some popcorn or we could play a board game or go—”

“no, uhm, i meant something else,” he blushes, and you realize his legs had been wrapped around your left thigh for the entire time he’d been holding onto you, “i promise i’ll be good.”

“baby, you’re always good, what do you mean?” you ask softly, gently cupping his cheek with your hand. he leans into your touch, almost purring at the feeling.

“i promise, i promise i’ll be perfect for you, just please love me, please, i—”

“puppy,” you cut him off this time, because his words break your heart more and more by the second and it’s impossible to take. the nickname immediately changes his demeanor, evident by the fact his body tenses up. he looks up at you with his teary eyes, so you whisper to him, “are you sure you want to? i’d feel like i was taking advantage of you in this state if you’re not one hundred percent sure.”

“please, i’m sure,” he pleads, and you’ve never been one to deny him.

“does my puppy want his owner to fuck him?” you ask, and he nods quickly, desperately, and it makes you chuckle. he was so precious, “alright then, let’s move this to the bedroom.”

he follows behind you before lying down quietly on the bed. he’s silent the whole time you go through your dresser drawer for what you need, which is so unlike him that you turn to make sure he’s still there, and of course he is. he’s staring up at the ceiling vacantly, and you would do anything at this point to help the poor boy.

“strip for me, puppy,” you murmur, and he sits up to throw his shirt off and pull off his shorts and boxer. minhyuk’s never had a big build, always on the thinner side, but good god he looks so small with his shoulders hunched in like that, and it saddens you, “come here, pup, let me take care of you,” he crawls to the edge of the bed, head hung a bit low. you use a finger to lift his chin up, forcing him to look you in the eye, but it’s too much, “min, darling, let’s stop. you obviously—”

“please don’t, y/n, i really need this,” he begs, hands reaching out for you, needing to feel that you’re there, “i know you don’t like it when i’m sad, but i really need to be yours right now. please show me that i’m more than just an annoyance.”

“okay,” you breathe, leaning in for a kiss. it’s so much softer than normal, each movement of yours is filled with love and adoration. you just hope he can feel it as much as you do. you pull back to whisper to him, “let me prep you.”

he nods, grabbing onto the collar of your shirt to pull you on top of him, “ruin me, please.”

you squeeze some lube onto your fingers, warming it up so he doesn’t have to feel the coldness, “i’ll break you into pieces and put you back together beautifully, pup,” he still jumps at the feeling of your fingers touching him, pressing one in gently. he sighs at the feeling, closing his eyes to just simply take it all in. after a few minutes, he’s groaning at the slight stretch when you add another finger, “does that feel good, my pretty puppy?”

“y-yeah,” he stutters adorably, “want you inside me,” though you’d usually make him beg a little bit, tonight would be different. tonight was all about him.

“alright puppy, sit tight for me,” you kiss his forehead as you pull your fingers out, “god, you’re so beautiful. beautiful and absolutely mine.”

he whines at your words, whispering, “yours.”

you press the strap-on against his rim, pushing in when he gives you the green light, “you’re an incredible human being, my minpuppy, you’re so kind, so loving, and so bright,” you murmur as he moans out softly as you slowly push in and out, keeping the pace slow, and yet he’s already lost in the pleasure, “and you’re so, so special. you’re the only one for me, god i never want to let you go. you’re so perfect for me.”

the praise makes him more and more weak and it adds to feeling building up in his stomach more and more each second, “o-oh, fuck, fuck—!”

“you sound so pretty, when you’re close too,” you mutter in between thrusts, “you could cum at any second, but you like waiting for permission, don’t you?”

“l-like making you— oh my god!— proud of me,” he barely gets out as he’s so close, he can feel it coming.

“then make me proud, puppy, cum for me,” you order, and he easily obeys, feeling the warmth wash over him. you watch the white ribbons collect all over his tense stomach as he breathes heavily. you hadn’t touched his cock up until now, but you make sure to jerk him off through his orgasm until he’s given all the cum he’s got. you pull out of him and he all but collapses from all the energy it took, “there you go, puppy, good boy. you’re such a good boy. here, let me go get a rag so i can clean you up—”

“no~,” he whines, “stay with me. i like being dirty for you.”

“keep talking like that and i’ll really ruin you, pup,” you smirk teasingly.

“is that a threat or a promise?” he asks with bright eyes, even though he knows the answer. him being at least somewhat back to his normal self makes this moment so precious.

“promise, puppy, it’s a promise.”

[moonofiron]

Hardcore YamiChar fan here. Couldn't find the fanfic I wanted so I wrote one for myself.

I enjoyed writing it so much that I thought of sharing it with other YamiChar fans, too! It's my first attempt at a fanfic HA. I'm not sure what the ideal WC for fanfics is but I do know that this is way too long. If you read this, I hope you'll enjoy + leave feedback! 🤗

Anime: Black Clover

Characters: Yami Sukehiro x Charlotte Roselei. Passing mentions of other characters.

Genre: Fluff, romance, friendship, explicit sexual content 🥵

Rating: M

Synopsis: Yami and Charlotte get into an ugly fight and then they try to reconcile.

Word Count: 6,335 😬

Minors, dni.

___________________________________________________

Yami felt steam rise up from his entire body. He stared at the floor in disbelief. He slowly looked up at Charlotte and his disbelief shaped itself into a seething anger.

They both stood in the centre of his room. A sliver of embarrassment shadowed Charlotte's face. She couldn't believe she had slapped Yami so hard that his lip was bleeding.

Charlotte had come to his place to drop some reports from their last mission. Their banter today had gotten out of hand. Yami was teasing Charlotte like always and though she never seemed to mind, today something shifted in her. Whatever Yami said pricked her like never before and she slapped him right across his face for a frivolous remark.

Before Charlotte could open her mouth to apologise, she felt a strong force push her 10 feet back. The apology hung and died in the back of her throat. Pitch black energy enveloped her neck, wrists, thighs, and ankles and pinned her against the wall. Spread eagle on the wall above a small shelf, Charlotte took a second to understand what was happening. Yami had moved with lightning speed and was barely an inch from her now. She could hear him grinding his teeth. She could feel his heat.

“Don't you dare raise your hand...” Yami growled in her ear and felt her ki shift from fear to something else so helplessly and plainly that he stopped mid-sentence. Something dropped in his stomach. His anger changed again but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it had become now. With a hint of a smile in his voice, he asked in a soft whisper, “Oii oii, Princess, what's that, eh?" He didn't meet her eyes and stayed completely still. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Charlotte was breathing heavily. Her warm breath made the hair on his neck stand.

Charlotte said nothing. She didn't want to give away what being so close to him was doing to her. She knew Yami could only read her ki to a point. She put on a determined and strong facade.

“I can taste the speed of your blood rushing to places it shouldn't be rushing to,” whispered Yami as he licked the blood off his lips. Charlotte's eyes widened as it dawned on her that Yami wasn't really dense when it came to these things. She panicked and tried to break free from his magic's restraints in vain. He moved as she did, making sure to not touch her at all.

“Let me go, Yami. Right now," she spoke slowly and firmly but he sensed that everything inside of her said otherwise.

When she stopped struggling, he began speaking in the language of a smirk. His lips were so close to her ear that she could feel his beard caressing her lobe every now and then.

“I can feel the heat rising in your cheeks and I can see that knot in your belly and I can taste the thirst in the back of your throat. Hmm.”

He stopped. He contemplated saying more. He wanted to embarrass her. He was still angry at her audacity to slap him.

“Please...,” Charlotte whispered.

“Hmm?”

Still not touching her, he carefully moved to her other ear, his lips almost brushed hers but his focus was sharp.

“I can hear the blood rushing to your nipples, Princess, hardening them. I can hear the ache in your inner thighs. I can taste the warmth flooding around your soft mound. I can hear your toes curling. I can sense the slight movement in your hips. This unintentional offering of yours to a peasant like me is pretty uncharacteristic of you, no?” Sarcasm oozed out of his words.

He stayed close but still, waiting for her to say something snarky. His lip and cheek still stung from the slap. But what he was doing now would sting her for the rest of her life. Her silence made his anger boil up again, and his whisper changed to a guttural sound. “You think you can slap....”

Before he could complete his sentence, Charlotte spoke in labored breath. “Please, stop this and just do what you want already.”

Half confused and half surprised, Yami frowned.

After a moment's pause, she sighed and whispered, “Yami, please, just take me”

Yami moved back a few steps and cocked his head. Charlotte gasped as if something precious had been taken from her. He looked at her pleading face. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. She looked gorgeous pinned and restrained on the wall; strands of her golden hair stuck to her sweaty face. Yami practically undressed her with the crude way he looked at her body. But he remained unmoved. His face looked bored at worst and indifferent at best. He took out his sword and Charlotte swallowed hard. Maybe he was dense and actually wanted to kill her. Terror flashed in her eyes. The cool blade touched her thighs and she wriggled her hips. Yami made a slit in the centre of her shorts and her wetness bloomed outwards toward him. She was slick with wetness and glistening. In a flash, Yami moved closer to her as he unzipped his leather pants and took his throbbing cock in his hand. He thrust himself in her with such speed and violence that she didn't even get a chance to see him in all his glory. He moved inside her hard and fast, revenge staining each thrust. He moved without making a sound, without touching her anywhere else. She bit her lip to stop herself from moaning. Her body ached for just one touch. He was intentionally making sure that his chest wouldn't so much as brush against her breasts, or his face wouldn't collapse into her neck. Unsatisfied with how little he touched her, she tried to look for his hands as he fucked her angrily. His hands were on the wall beside hers, a hair's distance between them. She tried to move her hands as much as she could with the restraints, but he moved quickly. With hurt bubbling inside her heart she accepted whatever the hell this was. She gave in and groaned. She clenched around him each time an orgasm took her, her groans turned into moans and she quivered around him. As she felt a final surge of pleasure spreading everywhere, Yami pulled out and came all over her thighs. He turned around quickly, zipped his pants, and sat down on the bed, leaving Charlotte exposed and still quivering with delight. He lit a cigarette and without looking at Charlotte, removed the pitch black restraints around her wrists, thighs, neck, and ankles. She almost fell but steadied herself.

Unsure of what to say or do next, she began, "Yami, I am...."

"Get out."

"What?"

He looked up at her, bore his eyes into hers for the first time since the slap, and spat out something so cruel that it would ring in her ears for a long time, "Get out. You slapped me, I fucked you like the whore you are. We're even. Now get out."

Charlotte, dumb-founded, jerked her head back. She grabbed her bag and grimoire and left without another word. The transactory nature of all of this made her sick to her stomach. This wasn't what she had imagined her first time with Yami to be like. She couldn't believe how inconsiderate and insensitive Yami had been. She had known him to be caring and loving and overly protective of his friends, even if he didn't express it properly. So, this crass exchange didn't make sense to her. Simply put, her heart had broken not because of what had happened. But because she had just lost all respect for Yami. And, how can one love someone if one doesn't respect them?

//

The next morning, Julius called in a meeting of all magic knight captains. Everyone was in a jovial mood. Yami was late as usual. Charlotte, Nozel, and Feugoleon were waiting calmly. There was chattering and bantering and laughter. Until, Yami walked in. Everyone shut up. They had never experienced such a heavy aura from Yami. He always had a chilled out, lazy aura about him. They were all confused but no one dared to say a word. Nozel was sure that Yami had been possessed by a devil. Because everyone was so shaken by Yami, no one noticed Charlotte's visible discomfort.

//

Everything started returning back to normal slowly for Charlotte. Meetings were bearable. Charlotte had made a special request in secret to not be paired with Yami for missions. She cried in bouts, in between chores, after meetings, saddened by the friendship she had lost. She tried to block the memory of that evening but Yami's words came back to her suddenly and again and again. She would shudder with pain and sob till she felt nothing.

Yami remained sharp and focused during meetings and missions. He made sure to never look at Charlotte directly. When and if he spoke to her during meetings, he looked at Jack instead. He stayed aloof and the heaviness accompanied him everywhere.

Everyone slowly realised that Yami and Charlotte weren't teasing eachother anymore. There was no banter from them whatsoever and that greatly changed the dynamic of the meetings. Jack wanted to approach Yami but he thought better of it.

//

3 weeks after the evening of the slap, Yami left the Black Bulls base around 11pm. His mind was unfocused and clouded. He struggled to calm down. He struggled to make a decision. In the end, he found himself perched on the railing of Charlotte's balcony. He saw her silhouette behind the translucent curtains. She was combing her hair. He felt her ki, heavy with an inexplicable sorrow, embarrassment, and worthlessness.

He sighed heavily. He wanted to undo everything. He wanted his friend back. He wanted to apologise. He wanted to make her feel beautiful again. It's not like he wasn't aware of her feelings for him all these years. He just chose to ignore them. He felt he would never be able to live up to her expectations. He enjoyed the chase, the light flirting, but never took any of it seriously. Somewhere deep down, he had accepted nothing was ever going to happen between them.

He sighed again. He could have acted so differently that night. He was ashamed that he let himself succumb to his viciousness. He never thought she could bring out that side of him, but she did. That evening, when she had slapped him, he had boiled with anger. When he had restrained her, he hadn't intended to harm her. When he had moved closer to her, he was just toying with her, mocking the kind of anger that he knew would scare her. But the shift in her ki that evening was so... pure...so innocent, he couldn't keep himself steady. His head spun and he gave in to a side of him that he had always kept at bay around her. Of course he didn't mean what he said to her. He was just trying to cover up his need for her. And in doing so, he had given birth to something awful, something mixed with an inexplicable anger towards her and his need to make her his.

Lost in thought, he didn't realise when Charlotte had opened the door of the balcony. Her hair was braided and tied into a neat bun. She was wearing a shear nightgown. The cold wind gave her goosebumps and the moonlight shone bright in her eyes. She looked stunning and Yami wanted to ravage her right there and then. His entire being ached. He had gotten a taste once but that wasn't even close to what he wanted from her. But he made sure that his eyes didn't drop to her perfect curves or her supple breasts or her shapely legs that he had imagined wrapped around him countless number of times. He didn't look anywhere else except for her face. He felt it was a necessary sign of respect after what he had done the other night.

“What are you doing here, Yami Taicho?"

Her use of the honorific "Taicho" hurt him. She was verbalizing the distance between them. She glared at him, waiting for an answer. Her eyebrows high and and perfectly shaped for him to kiss.

“Just dropped by to say hi. We haven't talked since our little adventure, you know." He immediately regretted making light of the situation. Charlotte gave away nothing, her expression plain and indifferent. But she grinded her teeth ever so slightly and Yami noticed.

“If there's something urgent regarding a mission, then please come straight to the point, kaicho. Otherwise, leave."

Yami remained still. He tried to tap into her Ki to understand what she was feeling. He felt nothing. Just a vast expanse of nothingness. Overcome with regret and guilt, he lit a cigarette and settled in the chair on the balcony.

“Why don't you go back inside? Let me finish my cigarette first and then I'll leave. It'll be like I never came, Princess.” He said princess in his same old mocking way, hoping to bring a sense of familiarity in this cold conversation.

"Oh, but you did! You're here! You're a disrespectful coward who doesn't deserve my time, love, or friendship. Get off my balcony."

Yami looked deep into her eyes but said nothing, nor did he move. Her eyes spoke loud enough for both of them.

After a moment of collecting herself, Charlotte calmly said, “You know, Yami Taicho, a man ceases to be a man when he doesn't realise or acknowledge when he needs to apologise. Good night.”

With this, she turned around, ready to go back in the room. But she felt Yami's firm hand around her arm. She pulled back in vain. She kept fighting but his grip was too strong. She managed to get a few scratches on his face. He pushed her inside and finally, in a broken voice said, "Calm down, princess. Please."

“Let me go, you bastard.”

“Charlotte, please. I am sorry. I am sorry for what happened that night. Let me make it up to you.”

Taken aback by the way her name rolled in his mouth, Charlotte stopped struggling. He had never called her by her name. It was always a mocking "Princess".

"Please." He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers.

If ever she saw a broken man, it was Yami in this moment. She couldn't put together the Yami of tonight with the Yami she saw 3 weeks back. Tonight, there was a crack in him out of which a subtle softness leaked; she had never seen or felt it before.

She sighed. Yami let go of her hands and flicked his cigarette in a bowl on her nightstand. He then held her face with such tenderness that she forgot where she was, what she was, or what had happened between them. His thumb caressed her eyebrows and eventually her parted lips. His left hand deftly opened her braided hair, moved to her lower back, and pressed her entire body against his. She gasped slightly, his warmth covering her entire being. His right hand remained on the side of her face, continuously caressing her lips and eyes in slow and small cirlces.

Charlotte suddenly pushed back and spoke in a broken voice, “I won't be able to stand it another time. Please. I didn't deserve whatever you did to me last time and I don't deserve whatever you're planning to do now. I won't let you make a fool out of me twice. Leave.”

Unfazed, Yami moved closer to her, picked her up in his arms, and gently laid her down on her bed. She closed her eyes so she could hold back her tears. Hovering over her, his hands still under her lower back and head, he spoke slowly but with intention, “You're right. You didn't deserve what I did to you last time. But you do deserve to be loved. Fuck love, you deserve to be worshipped. And you shouldn't stop a devotee like me, Princess. Not tonight.”

She was dumbstruck at his words. Even his gentleness was laced with brutishness. She didn't know how to react to what he had just said.

On top of her in an instant, he opened the loosely tied string of her nightgown in a swift movement. He looked at her nakedness. She was truly shaped like a goddess. She never used any fragrance and he inhaled the pure and raw heat emanating from her. She smelt like wet earth. He couldn't wait to lick the folds of her soft belly or her breasts that were perfectly sized for his large hands. He saw tears rolling down her cheeks and he broke. A soft whimper escaped her lips and then everything went still and quiet for a moment.

She shivered from the cold wind. And, from the anticipation of what might be coming. When she opened her eyes, he was nowhere to be seen. She perched her neck to look for him and felt a flutter of a kiss on her right toe. Embarrassed, she shrieked and pulled her legs to her chest, “What are you doing?!”

Yami caught her feet in his hands, and brought them back where they were. “Shhh, princess. Just lie back and let me make it up to you, please.”

Charlotte, uncomfortable at first, finally gave in. He started again, kissing each of her toes gently. He made his way up, kissing and nibbling at her ankles, her calves, and the back of her knees. After each kiss, his hands strongly caressed the part of her legs he had kissed. As he moved up, his face came closer to her heat. He licked all over her thighs, their back, their sides, the insides. He nibbled at the soft skin of her inner thighs. He could feel her moving her hips towards him. She was getting impatient already. He kept kissing her legs till there was nowhere left to kiss. Her legs glistened in the moonlight with the moistness of his kisses.

He moved up and Charlotte put her hands on his shoulders. She didn't know when he had removed his clothes. Yami had only reached her hips and his hair tickled her belly. He was taking his own sweet time, loving every inch of her body that he had refused to even touch last time. He chuckled at how hard it had been to not touch a beauty so real and close. He glided his tongue in the crevices where her waist met her legs, right next to her clit, and around her belly button. He bit the sides of her waist and softly kissed the bite marks. Charlotte was moving with Yami. She shuddered at each kiss, moaned at each bite, and gasped when Yami's rough hands stroked the definition of her body. He licked the skin under her breasts and made his way upwards to her hardened nipples, leaving behind a trail of his saliva. He took a nipple in his mouth and fluttered his tongue on it to make it harder before he started sucking on it. He groaned deep into her skin. Charlotte was panting, moving as much as she could, and his groans built up a tension in her stomach that she couldn't ignore anymore. She moved her hips up, and his cock brushed against her clit. Both of them gasped loudly.

"Please, princess, be patient. I'm not done yet,” whispered Yami as he removed a strand of hair from her face and positioned himself so she couldn't move her legs or hips.

His hand fondled her other breast, gently pinching her nipple so she would make that deep but small sound he loved. He moved to suck on the other nipple, and cupped the other breast so it wouldn't lose the warmth of his mouth. From there, he moved to kissing and licking her shoulders, all the way to her fingers. He kissed the inside of her elbows, and nibbled at her wrist. He sucked each of her fingers and kissed the inside of her palms and her knuckles.

Charlotte had never been loved like this. He was kissing her in places she didn't know could be loved. The tension in her belly had spread its wings and she wanted to wrap her legs around him. But he had made sure to pin her legs down with his, making it difficult for her to move. She tried moving her hand to her clit, now throbbing and aching so much she could feel it in her lower back, but he grabbed hold of it before she could touch herself and restrained her, again. But this time, he was so gentle it felt like he was treating her as one would treat a flower.

“You know I can break free whenever I want, right?”

“Hmm. But don't.”

He had just begun working her neck now. With one hand restraining her wrists above her head, and the other hand in her hair, he began to wet her neck with his tongue. It was as if he was trying to absorb her, learn her curves, her corners. His stubble scratched her neck lightly and goosebumps bloomed everywhere on her skin.

"Yami, please. I can't take this anymore."

"I can't either. I can't take how beautiful you are. How pure and innocent you are. How you move with me, under me, beside me. How you gasp every fucking time the tip of my tongue touches your skin. How you moan my name so deeply; all of me comes out howling and at your service. How your body responds to my hands, all of this shuddering and quivering is driving me insane. I want to take you, make you mine, mark you as mine. This is my worship. Do you approve, princess? I think you do. Your body speaks to me in ways you can't fathom. You're only my goddess and I must be your only devotee. It boils my blood if anyone so much as looks at you.”

He said all of this in the lowest, softest whisper possible and between kisses and licks and nibbles and bites on her neck. He paused and looked directly into her eyes now.

“I can stand anything except being away from you. The last 3 weeks have been hellish. I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry for hurting you. I'll never forgive myself for hurting the most precious part of myself. But I hope, one day, you will.”

Charlotte was lost for words. Tears rolled down her cheeks and Yami licked them clean. He kissed her eyes, and then finally, her lips. He smelt of cigarettes. But there was hint of the raw smell of his skin that Charlotte found irresistible. Beneath the cloud of smoke he smelt salty and fresh like the sea.

Yami was careful not to be too harsh as he kissed her lips. He was afraid years of pent up feelings would make him bite her, or shove his tongue in her mouth too hard. So he pecked her sweetly and fluttered his tongue inside her mouth every now and then. But Charlotte bit his lips hard, licked them, and then nibbled at his entire jawline. He stayed still and swallowed. She was kissing him as if this was the last time she would see him. Her greed for his touch was laid out in plain sight. His entire body, hell, his entire being lit up. He let go of her hands and it took her less than a second to pull him down towards her. But Yami made sure to be on his knees still, for fear that his cock would touch her too soon.

Charlotte found a comfort in the weight of his chest crushing her. She ran her fingers through his hair and tried to move her legs so she could pull down all of him towards her, not an inch of distance between them. But Yami wasn't having any of that. He kissed her lips again. Then, he bit her chin lightly and sucked her flesh all the way down to her navel, where he stopped to see her breasts perked up and her face thrown back. Her hands were now out of his hair and cupping her own breasts.

Yami continued sucking and licking till he reached exactly where Charlotte wanted him. His large, warm hands spread her legs wider, and he bent down to cover her plump mound in kisses and suckles. She was moving her hips relentlessly now, hoping to have Yami's lips touch her clit, even if accidentally.

“Please, just once. Please, please, I can't stand it anymore. It hurts to have you so close and yet so far.”

Yami smiled against her inner thigh, spread her lips apart with his hands, and suddenly stuck his thick and wet tongue inside her. Charlotte's eyes flew opened, her eyeballs rolled back, and she moaned his name, long and deep. He moved his tongue in and out of her ever so slowly, teasing her even after all of this madness. His breath on her clit was still the closest he got. When his lips and chin were completely coated in her wetness he moved his face away. Thick strands of her wetness hung between his lips and hers, glinting in the moonlight. He stuck out his tongue again, and started a long hard lick from her soft, throbbing slit all the way up to her swollen clit. Charlotte screamed, her back arched, her toes curled. It was too much for her. She sat up and held Yami's head as his tongue finally fluttered against her clit. She moved her hips with Yami's tongue and Yami lost all sense of control. Her smell, her warmth, her need, her taste, her hands in his hair, everything made Yami lose his mind. He dug his fingers in her waist and suckled at her clit till her groans became moans, till her moans became screams, till her quivering legs together had his head buried between them.

When Yami finally looked up, Charlotte was already so spent that she lay back with a thud. Yami looked at her, taking in her body, her face, her breasts, her hair splayed all over the pillow, everything about her. His mouth was wet and sticky and he was licking his lips as he bore his eyes into her. She covered her face with her hands. She couldn't believe how easily she'd given in to him.

“Don't look at me, please. I am so...”

Yami shut her up with a kiss and Charlotte gave in, again. While he kissed her, he caressed her face with both his hands. His familiar weight, scent, and texture seemed to comfort her even more than before. She ran her hands all over his well-defined back, arms, and chest. Charlotte was getting braver and bolder with each passing second and Yami wanted to be owned by her. She pinched his fleshy bum and laughed out loud in between the kiss. Yami was taken aback at first but he joined her in her laughter.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulled him closer, and gripped his moist, warm, and hard cock with her right hand. Her touch made Yami collapse and bury his face in her neck. He bit down on her flesh so hard that Charlotte let out a little wail. The tip of his cock touched her ever-growing wetness, and Yami moved slightly to enter her but didn't go all the way in. She was slick with his saliva and her cum. He started moving slowly, only giving her the tip of his cock. It was getting unbearable for him to keep toying with her. He wanted, so badly, to just fuck her deep and hard but he wanted this to last for as long as possible.

He maintained a steady rhythm as Charlotte slowly bloomed and eased around him. Moaning his name as she held his shoulders and wanting more of him, Charlotte moved her hips to meet him halfway. When he stopped, Charlotte growled and dug her fingernails into his shoulder. He started moving again.

"Yami, please," whispered Charlotte.

"Hmm?"

"Please."

"Hmm."

In one swift motion, Yami plunged himself deep inside of her, his entire length nestled effortlessly within her soft warmth. He moved in and out of her ever so slowly. Charlotte had lost her voice and all that she could muster were raspy groans and loud gasps. Yami's low gutteral growls were a voice Charlotte still wasn't used to. She found a deep pleasure in his growls, it made the hair on her arms and neck stand in ovation and she could feel her nipples hardening against his chest again. Each time Yami moved, his chest rubbing against her flesh, his arms flexing right next to her face, his hair tickling her neck, his lips constantly kissing all of her, she felt like she was going to burst open. The tenderness with which he moved inside her shocked her, too. To see a beast so feral become so soft for her suddenly made her feel powerful. They moved together, taking their own time. Yami gave her all of him in smooth, steady, and painfully slow thrusts.

Yami hadn't moved his face from her neck and had continued sucking where he had bit her earlier. His hands constantly stroked the sides of her body. Her hands were all over him, digging into his flesh.

“You're so gorgeous," he mumbled.

“Uhun?”

“Hmm.”

“And?”

He chuckled while moving inside her, “And what?"

”What else am I?"

“It's tough to find the right words for you, princess." He unburied his face from her neck, propped himself on his elbows, and kissed her nose.

“Let's..." she let out a slight moan mid-sentence, "...let's start small."

"Yeah? Like how?" He pecked her lips sweetly and smiled at her. What she said next made Yami skip a beat.

"Like if I'm tight enough?"

Yami grunted. He hadn't taken Charlotte for someone who was vocal in bed. She was always so prim and proper. He would go as far as calling her a prude. He felt himself getting slightly harder inside of her and Charlotte clenched tighter around him. And then, she immediately unclenched to tease Yami. She could see Yami's face change as he started moving slightly faster. His left hand was moving behind her head now.

She spoke between moans again, breathing heavily, "Or if I'm wet enough for you, Yami Taicho," and arched her back towards him suggestively, taking him in even deeper.

Charlotte could feel Yami throbbing inside of her. She could tell he was slowly increasing the speed with which he moved in and out of her. Yami, usually very vocal in bed and used to ordering around in crass language, was at loss for words. This was too unexpected and his heart was racing. This was a woman he loved. Charlotte's candidness woke in him something he didn't understand. He couldn't believe that the strongest woman he had ever known and fought alongside, was asking him something so intimate.

“Yami Taicho, tell me, is my cunt tight enough? Is it slick and wet enough for you to fuck me harder?”

Yami felt his chest tighten. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He struggled to stay put but couldn't. He pulled her hair with a jerk, put his right hand under her right thigh and pushed it up so her knee touched her breast. Spread even wider, Charlotte could feel Yami's urgency. He shifted gears from loving her to fucking her so quickly that Charlotte covered her mouth with her hands so she wouldn't be too loud. There was no stopping him anymore. She bit her lip and a ringing laughter birthed itself out of her plump lips. Her moans were getting longer, getting punctuated with deeper sighs.

"Oh, Taicho, I've touched myself so many times thinking about you fucking me till I cum all over you" she teased and breathed heavily. Her face glowed with Yami's and her own sweat.

Yami suddenly pulled out, and a guttural cry emerged out of Charlotte. Before she could understand what's happening, Yami had flipped her around. His left hand pinched her left nipple so hard, Charlotte cried out. He pulled her hair back with his right hand and bit her jaw and kissed her lips with an urgency he had kept at bay till now. He then let her breast go and thrust his cock inside of her, and started fucking her relentlessly. Charlotte couldn't catch her breath in time and her eyes rolled back. His arm snaked around her waist and he started rubbing her clit. He felt her legs shivering, giving away.

“Hard enough?"

She couldn't say anything and nodded as she tried to steady herself.

“Rub your clit while I fuck you, Charlotte." He bit her shoulder and stroked her waist roughly. A deep flush rose in her cheek. She was surprised at how shy she suddenly felt. Still not used to him saying her name, Charlotte felt herself clenching tighter around him. When she didn't move her hands, Yami pulled her hair harder and growled, “Rub it," and guided her hand towards her clit. With his hand on top of hers as she rubbed herself deep and hard into another orgasm, Charlotte came all around Yami. Yami felt the slickness and warmth spreading all around his balls and her thighs. The sounds of his groin and balls slapping against her hips and mound got louder and louder. Yami put three fingers deep inside her mouth, and with the other hand he began punctuating her pants with loud slaps on her plump hips. With every spank, Charlotte seemed to push back into him harder.

“Now slap it, Charlotte, slap it when I spank you.”

Charlotte couldn't believe the intimacy between them. So effortless. She slapped her clit hard and felt herself gushing around him again. She didn't think she could cum again so soon. She began slapping her clit as he spanked her ass and with each slap, she moaned Yami's name so loud that Yami had to cover her mouth with his hand. He was scared the other members of Blue Rose might hear her.

Spent and tired, Charlotte tried to reach for Yami's balls. She tried to cup the plump warmth with her hand but Yami was moving so fast inside her that she couldn't grab a hold of them. When she finally did, Yami gasped and plunged into Charlotte hard and deep and came. She felt him spread his heat inside of her in quick successions. He moved in short and slow thrusts as he came. His fingers dug in the flesh of her hips hard and a deep grunt mixed with a moan escaped his lips.

They collapsed beside each other, panting and gasping. Yami put his hand between her legs, cupped their cum and stuck his fingers in Charlotte's mouth. She stared deep into his eyes as she licked his hand clean. Eager, she sat on top of him, caressed herself and rubbed their cum all over her waist and breasts. Yami's cock, limp and spent, throbbed again when he saw what Charlotte was doing. He held her waist and brought her closer to his face and lazily licked her swollen clit, still warm and sticky with their cum. Charlotte was too sensitive and as her legs were beginning to tighten around Yami's head, he came up to lick her moist belly and breasts. He laid her down beside him, and continued to kiss where he had licked her earlier. He didn't realise when she fell asleep from exhaustion, cradled in his arms. He smiled and let her be. With her right leg hugging his waist and her head on his arm, Yami traced light circles on her thigh, deep in thought, till he fell asleep.

//

When the mellow early morning sunlight hit, Yami woke up. He looked at Charlotte, breathing softly against his chest. Her hair were tangled and spread all over his left arm. He kissed her forehead, slowly recovered his arm from under her head, and got out of bed. He freshened up and came out to see Charlotte sitting up in bed. She was glowing. Her perfect body was bruised lilac all over and she wore the bruises proudly. She looked at Yami, a hint of a shy smile playing on her lips.

Yami leaned against the doorframe of the washroom and folded his hands. She walked over to him, naked and stunning. Yami skipped a beat and his eyes looked hungry still.

“Oii oii, princess, you should wear something. Are you trying to seduce me?”

He put her hair behind her ears, put a hand on her lower back, and kissed her nose. Charlotte squirmed when the cool leather pants touched her.

“See you around... my queen.” He kissed her jaw sweetly and started to leave. Charlotte grabbed his arm and Yami raised his eyebrows.

”I have to leave, I'm going to be late for a mission."

“I love you, Yami."

Yami's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He picked her up, spun her around, and then both of them collapsed on the bed. He burrowed his face in her neck. Charlotte laughed out loud, his stubble was tickling her neck and his hands were stroking her body. She loved how she had just gotten to see another side of Yami; a playful, childlike side. In just one night he had opened up like a soft flower before her and she wanted all of him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, in between laughs.

“I thought you were never going to say it.”

“I love you, Yami."

“I love you, my queen.”

She laughed beautifully and then pushed Yami away, ”Now get going. You'll get super late!”

Yami grabbed her waist and burrowed his head in her breasts.

“I'm sure Asta can handle the mission."

[mcdannomoment]

finale feelings

Okay, I have a ton of feelings about the finale, and now that I’ve had some time to think them through, I’ll write them. Please be kind, I’ve seen the series once only, I’m really tired, and I’m sure this was all said before.

Okay firstly let’s just put aside Catherine as a character in and of herself… that whole thing made no sense. Catherine never showed an inkling of having the sort of skills to decode anything, much less being one of only two people in the world who could decode a thing. That was silly and just an excuse to get her back on Steve’s radar. Not to mention that Catherine just never showed much interest in Steve. I’ll come back to Catherine later as she stands as an external prop for Steve’s character, but I think we can just leave it here that Catherine’s character, for herself, made 0 sense.

Let’s focus on Steve.

Steve broke my heart this episode. The worst part is that I don’t think what he did was actually OOC. Steve has a pretty long and uncomfortable history of putting his own needs over Danny’s, starting from when he first met him and forced him to be his partner. I get where Steve was coming from, but this whole army commander take what I need for the mission attitude is the whole problem. Consulting Danny even as a courtesy never entered Steve’s mind.

(more below cut)

Steve just does this with Danny continually throughout the series, like leaving him with a letter to run off chasing Shelburne. Again, he doesn’t bother even consulting Danny as a courtesy before he leaves. He has an objective, Danny doesn’t fit that objective except to keep his seat warm in 5-0. He honestly just never gives Danny even basic autonomy, from things like choosing his lunch for him right through to putting him in situations he’s not comfortable with. Sometimes Steve pushing Danny is definitely a good thing since Danny does get paralyzed by fear (the incident where Steve pushed Danny into jumping across the building gap springs to mind; if they hadn’t have done that they would have died) but sometimes it’s just more of Steve has an objective to achieve, and Danny is a means to achieve that objective (the skydiving incident).

I don’t mean to slam Steve’s character, and I’ve known quite a lot of people like this! They’re good people, they just need a lot more emotional development. Between the two of them I think Danny’s a lot more emotionally mature and empathetic, and they’re quite good for each other in many ways. But Steve is very selfish, in the sense that his focus is always on himself. What he wants, what his objective is, how the things around him make him feel. With where Steve’s head is at, I don’t think he fully and completely understands Danny as an individual human being with his own needs. Hell, he even bullies Danny into including him in his retirement plan and abandoning said retirement plan.

With Steve’s focus always within his own head, and the people around him established as tools he can use to achieve his own ends, I can really start to understand Steve’s severe control issues in season 10 in particular. His mother dying was what sealed his fate, really. I think it was really the first time a person close to Steve fully used their own initiative and choice to go against what Steve said, and Steve trying to force his mother to do what he wanted and become a controllable force in his self-directed life ended up getting her killed. And that screwed him up badly. I don’t think he fully processed his role in his mother’s death properly. He ends up dumping Danny, who is really the love of his life, saying he needs time for himself, that he’d spent a decade saving everyone else. In reality I think Steve is just spiralling from loss of control. He tries to regain some control by cutting out the more unpredictable variables: the other people in his life.

Then Danny gets kidnapped and tortured. This is obviously devastating for Steve, because Danny really is the love of his life. And Steve kind of loses it, but he loses it in a very interesting way. Steve gives up all control to Daiyu Mei. He doesn’t even entertain not letting her control the situation. Danny’s been in danger before, but Steve has never given up control so completely like this before.

Steve’s really broken by this. And it’s the hardest he’s ever taken Danny getting hurt. Because I think he’s less broken by Danny getting hurt as much as it is leftover trauma from his mother’s death and spiralling loss of control.

He winds up leaving Danny when Danny can hardly move and must have only just been released from the hospital, and isn’t that a dick move. He claims he’s going to “find himself” but I think he’s just running away from people in order to regain a sense of control. He can’t control other people. He couldn’t control Danny being taken or his mother making the choices she did in Mexico. If he’s alone, he can gain full control over the situation.

And Danny? Well, Steve sort of has him trapped. Danny can’t leave - he has a son, it’s implied Steve gave him his dog to look after and possibly his house, and while he’s injured Danny can’t go and get himself into dangerous situations that Steve feels the need to save him from. Danny sort of becomes an ornament in Steve’s home ready to welcome him when he comes back. Steve’s been on record several times being pretty aggressive about Danny staying in Hawaii, but he’s never shown remorse for leaving himself, and he doesn’t here.

I hate to characterise Danny as Steve’s “wife” but that’s the dynamic I get from them. You see it so often in married couples, particularly married couples where the husband has to travel for work, whether that’s military, mining, corporate, trucking, what have you. The husband has his goal, his life, and he sees his wife as someone to support that and make it happen. This is exactly what happened in my own family, as I had a travelling father. His need to fulfil himself drove him away again and again, and my mother, trapped where she was by children and the obligations her husband abandoned her to deal with, was left to clean up his mess. It’s what happens when the husband is selfish in the way Steve is - the emotionally more mature wife has to clean up the parts of his life he won’t deal with. In Steve’s case Danny is left with a bullet hole, a dog, a house full of ghosts, and a lot of mourning friends. Not to mention the kids Steve abandons. And there must be more too. Steve leaves a week after Danny is shot. That really doesn’t leave much time for Steve to get his affairs in order. I think he left Danny to clean up his emotional mess.

Minus the bullet hole, I’ve seen my mother go through very similar things. And it can destroy your sense of self. You end up living for the ghost of your husband as he pursues what he perceives as his destiny. It’s a really shitty thing but it’s so common. Every family I know with a travelling husband ended up like this.

Back to Catherine. As established Catherine as her own character makes no sense at all. But Catherine’s role in the finale as an extension of Steve’s character does make some sense. Steve is running away from his stable family, the love of his life, his role as a parent to Nahele, Grace, and Charlie - he’s running from all the progress he has made, because he is afraid of losing control the way he did when he lost his mother, and when Danny was taken from him. Catherine is safe. She’s Steve’s easy emotional release and fuck buddy. She’s familiar. And she’s basically Steve’s mother. A flaky CIA agent who always picks the job over Steve is far more familiar and therefore comforting to him than a stable family life with Danny. In his panic Steve runs from all the progress he has made back to Catherine.

It actually reminds me a lot of a wonderful fic I read, the love that you gave by Teeelsie. I never thought I’d read a cheating fic, let alone a McDanno cheating fic, because McDanno is my all time OTP, but this fic was highly recommended and wow, did it nail it. The fic is more about Steve’s internalised homophobia, but I think the way it relates to the show is in how Steve panics and goes back to the familiar. Back to Catherine. It’s a common thing just in life. It’s also extremely common for these travelling husbands that I think characterise Steve to be cheating on their wives, too. Now I’m just pretending Catherine wasn’t there, because it makes no sense for her to be there (jfc, she wasn’t a codebreaker and how did she know he would be on the plane anyway, and was she just sitting in transit in Honolulu waiting for Steve to get on the plane like a stalker) but I think there’s an element of ��emotional cheating” to what Steve’s going through when he runs away from the emotional risk that is staying with Danny at the end.

So basically I don’t think Steve running off was OOC. I think it was very in character. What was so frustrating was that the story clearly isn’t over. Running away will not solve Steve’s many issues, and he really does need Danny - and Danny needs him. Steve desperately needs to learn to stop being so selfish and see Danny and the others as full and complete human beings with their own complex needs. It’s tough because Steve pushing Danny was very good for Danny in many respects, so I want to see them learn to thread that line where Danny doesn’t get treated like an emotional doormat, but he also isn’t allowed to just retreat to the safety of familiarity all the time either - he needs a little McGarrett magic in his life!

But after what Danny told Steve when they were stuck in the building collapse, it’s going to be hard for them after this. Danny doesn’t have to look at Steve and imagine him leaving him any longer. Danny now has the memory of it.

tl;dr Steve is a whacked out, certifiable control freak.

[aalissy]

Rain

Day 1 of Marichat May is hereee!! Yayaya!! I love this dynamic and I’m excited to write more for it :). Lemme know what you guys think of this lil chapter haha. I loved writing it :D

AO3

“I hate the rain,” Chat grumbled, glaring out Marinette’s bedroom window as the storm raged outside. Lightning streaked the night sky as she blinked over at him. His blonde hair was dripping with small droplets of rainwater and she huffed at the mess he was making of her floor.

Suddenly, he shook his head viciously, rubbing the water off of him with a scowl. Marinette spluttered, holding her hands up as it all fell onto her. With a shriek, she laughed, “Chat, stop! You’re getting water everywhere! Oh my god, you are such a cat.”

“Sorry, purrincess.” He gave her an ashamed smile, his hands pausing in his hair.

Rolling her eyes, she quickly pulled open one of her drawers. Grabbing a small towel, she threw it at him, feeling somewhat satisfied when it hit him squarely in the face. “Here. Use this to dry off instead so you don’t get water all over.”

Chat took it gratefully, quickly drying off his hair. Marinette sighed quietly, walking over to her window to stare out at the rainstorm. She watched the water fall with a small, delicate smile. She had no idea what Chat was talking about. Rain was gorgeous. Closing her eyes, she listened to the sounds, drifting back to another day where she stood in the rain. She mumbled softly, “I really can’t believe you don’t like rain. I absolutely adore it.”

He hummed lightly, moving his head from side to side as he considered her words. “Well, it’s not that I usually hate it, I just got caught in it tonight. Let me tell you, that was not fun. Especially when I was looking furward to a nice, easy night run.”

Marinette gave him an amused look as he pouted, crossing his arms as he continued to glare out the window. He looked like the weather had personally offended him in some way. Shaking her head fondly, she laughed. “So, instead of going home and grabbing an umbrella or going back to bed, you decided to come here?”

Chat turned to look down at her, his lower lip jutting out into an even bigger pout. “Marinette, I was cold and wet. It came out of nowhere and I needed to find somewhere warm to stay and your home is pawsitively the warmest,” he whined at her rather pathetically.

She giggled again, patting his arm lightly. A smirk then twitched at her lips as she raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Maybe so, but I don’t typically make a habit of picking up strays.”

“So, you’d have let me freeze to death in the rain instead. How cruel,” Chat moaned at her dramatically.

“Oh quit being such a baby,” Marinette swatted him playfully, ignoring his indignant shout. “It’s not that cold.”

“It most definitely is,” he huffed, “Were you the one outside getting drenched?”

She couldn’t hold back another fond laugh, rolling her eyes at him. Her partner was such a dork. He risked his life every day during akuma attacks but as soon as a little rain hits and he turns into a scaredy-cat.

Chat slid into her desk chair as he scrutinized her. “Actually, I was wrong earlier. I do hate the rain. How do you like it?”

A nostalgic grin lit up her face as she gazed outside. Once again, she was transported to another day in the rain. God, it felt so long ago now. Marinette whispered before she could fully register what she was even saying, “I fell in love in the rain.”

“Ooh,” Chat gave her a mischievous smirk and her eyes jolted over to stare at him, realizing what she had just said. “You and Luka met in the rain?”

Marinette’s cheeks flushed faintly. Her head ducked down and she shook it quickly. “No, no, no, no! This was a completely different boy and it was before I even met Luka.”

He tilted his head, giving her an eager look as he asked, “Who’s the boy then?”

“No one,” she waved her hand in the air before sighing sadly. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m trying to get over him.”

“Meowch,” Chat said, pouting at her. “You wound me, purrincess. You can trust me. I am purrety good at keeping a secret, you know.”

Marinette rolled her eyes at him as he gave her a playful wink. Glancing away, she muttered, “He’s just a classmate of mine. He gave me his umbrella after we got off to a rough start, so whenever it rains I can’t help but think about him. Like I said, though, I’m trying to get over him because he only sees me as a friend.”

She blew out a harsh breath, her bangs swaying slightly as she collapsed into her chaise. Pursing her lips up at the ceiling, she tried to shove away any thoughts of Adrien. With her eyes trained on the ceiling, she missed Chat’s own eyes practically bulge out of his head. Marinette did hear him splutter and cough and she turned her head to look at him as he almost fell out of the desk chair. Sitting up, she gave him a concerned look. “Are you alright, Chat?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he spluttered before looking at her with something she couldn’t quite identify in his eyes. “T-this classmate of yours, d-do you still have his umbrella?”

A faint smile twitched at her lips as her gaze was drawn over to the treasure chest that she kept it in. Nodding her head, Marinette said, “Yeah. He never asked for it back, so I kept it. Now that you mention it, though, I should probably find a way to return it.”

“No!” Chat nearly shouted before grimacing. Her eyes snapped over to connect with his as she frowned at him in confusion. What had caused that little outburst? Opening her mouth to ask him just that, he cut her off by speaking again, his cheeks suspiciously pink, “W-what I mean is... if he hasn’t asked for it back yet, you can probably keep it. I-I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

This was very unlike the superhero. He rarely stuttered and almost never had a sentence that didn’t include a pun of some kind. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him suspiciously. “What’s wrong, Chaton? You’re acting very jittery all of a sudden.”

“Nothing’s wrong!” he squeaked in a rather high-pitched voice, his eyes darting around her room. “I just... are you sure he only sees you as a friend?”

Marinette threw her head back in a laugh. Adrien had only said it about a million times. Her eyes glimmered mischievously as she looked back over at him, crossing her arms with a smirk. Getting off of her chaise, she walked over to him and flicked his bell playfully. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“Huh?” Chat frowned at her in genuine confusion for a brief moment before his face lit up in realization. He waved his hand in the air as he chuckled awkwardly. “No, no, not at all! Why would I be jealous of a boy I don’t know? At all.”

Now it was her turn to frown at him. Even her attempt to lighten the mood hadn’t worked. Chat was still very tense as he continued to fidget and look everywhere but at her. Raising an eyebrow, she said, “Relax, I was just kidding, kitty. But... why are you acting so strange then?”

“I’m not!” he cleared his throat before he stood up out of her chair quickly. Her shocked eyes met his determined ones as he asked, “Are you sure getting over him is the best plan, though?”

What was Chat even talking about? How did his mood shift so suddenly? With a small gulp, Marinette glanced away from his knowing gaze. “W-well, I mean, yeah, I do. Like I said, Chat, we’re friends and that’s all he wants us to be, and I’m okay with that.”

He nodded solemnly, his eyes looking dejected and she wondered what she had said to cause that kind of a reaction. Slowly, he spoke up, “So, if he did realize that he had feelings for you too, it’d be too late?”

Marinette jolted in shock, the idea too unbelievable that it didn’t even seem realistic. With a quick snort, she said, “That would never happen. But if by some miracle, he woke up and suddenly had feelings for me, I don’t think I would ever be able to turn him down.”

Chat’s face brightened and he turned to look out the window with a bright smile. “Well, purrincess, it looks like the rain has stopped now, so this stray can get out of your fur.”

“I do not have fur!” She scrunched her nose at him in disgust.

Chat simply chuckled before bounding up onto her bed. He gave her a quick wink and a salute as he looked down at her softly. “I’ll see you soon, Marinette.”

“Good night,” Marinette said, giving him a wave as he leaped out of her hatch and took off into the night. Shaking her head, she muttered, “What a strange cat.”